Wasn't Supposed To Be
by LovelyFandomLover
Summary: For a mutant to survive, it's acceptable to blur the lines of right and wrong more than once. That's what she was taught, along with don't rely on anybody and never betray her own kind. She never questioned those rules until she's forced to choose between surviving or doing what's right, both costing her more than her life. Havok/OC
1. It's Normal

**Full Summary:** _Life is difficult, Clara Welsh was well aware. But she was taught that there is always a silver lining in life. For her, it was her mutation. Although she didn't always saw her mutation in a positive light, Clara changed her mind when she realized what it made her. It_ _made her especial, different from everybody else, something that she always longed for. But with her luck, Clara realized, it was also what could get her killed. Hiding her mutation has proven a challenge but she's managed... for most of her life. It isn't until she's put in a compromising position to do what's right or ensure her safety, Clara realizes both can cost her more than her life._

* * *

 **Chapter One: It's Normal**

* * *

 _ **"We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell."  
**_ ― Oscar Wilde

* * *

Growing up in an orphanage, Clara had learned to be grateful for what she had. She could have had worse.

Besides, growing up in an orphanage had its perks. For example, she had the opportunity live in a home with other children. It was almost like boarding school except their parents never came to visit them because either they were dead or had abandoned them. The rooms were in horrible shapes at times and sometimes the children weren't very nice to her. But it was fun at times. They could play games, meet new children, get to see different places when they were transferred.

But to perks there were disadvantages. She would never get a proper education, getting stuck in mediocre schools. The schools never really helped her in her math struggles. She would never have nice or new things. Everything she owned was third hand, being passed down from the second owner that had gotten it from a thrift shop.

Clara didn't care anymore. She had when she was five, a naive little girl that still hoping to go back to her parents, not aware that they would never come back, and get everything she thought she deserved. But now, Clara being slightly older, she had discovered the ugly truth. She was forced to realize that none of those privileges mattered, she had to focus on the necessities than the luxuries.

Fortunately for her, she had grown accustomed to the system of orphanages, having grown up in that system since she was a baby. Each orphanage was similar; same beds, same food, same rules, same expectations. Although some were better while others were worse, Clara had the chance to experience all types.

The first orphanage Clara was dropped off, at the age of two, she didn't remember that well. Nothing of there had particularly stood out, she vaguely remembered some crying. She was only there for two years before being moved to another orphanage that she stayed for three years. That one, unfortunately, she remembered clearly. It was the worst years of her life.

Clara had been thrilled when she was moved to another orphanage, due to the one she had been currently been living had too many children. The new one she had been taken to was a vast improvement from the previous. She was happy that she had stayed there for more than three years, a record for her.

Saint Elena's Orphanage, located in Chicago, was run by nuns who would force the children to Sunday mass every weekend and make them pray before they eat and pretty much anything. It was a small orphanage, with only twenty-five children at most. Boys and girls, all ranging from ages five to fifteen. Some would leave, later being replaced by another kid within a week. Clara was never one of those kids that got to leave, but she didn't mind. The orphanage was the only home she knew of.

Clara would try to ignore the horrible conditions of the orphanage. Like the place would be freezing cold in winter and scorching hot in the summer. There was no in between. Or the showers only had cold water and they always had a humid smell that at times made the kids throw up. Or rats would make their appearance in the middle of the night, which served as an insensitive to keep the children from sneaking off in the middle of the night.

Saint Elena's wasn't a horrible place. It's where she learned how to jump rope, where she made her first friends, where she discovered she was allergic to strawberries, where she learned how to pray. It was the first place where she felt safe and warm. It gave her hope that there were people that did want her.

Overall, Clara wasn't complaining. She could have had worse.

* * *

 **September 1955**

Clara hated the cold. It always put her in a bad mood. Especially if she had been forced to go outside for fresh air right after she had gotten over the flu.

 _It will do you good the fresh air. Get some oxygen in your lungs,_ they told her when she had complained. _It's not healthy for a young girl to get sick that often._

The irony. Getting sick a lot is not healthy. Clara knew that, and to please the nagging nuns, she did exactly what they told her. Be outside and get fresh air. And what had happened to her? She had been forced to sit.

The nuns tried to keep the sick children from the others, not wanting to cause an epidemic in the orphanage. Which made Clara wonder, what was the whole point of being outside if she couldn't join the other children to play?

She had been fine when she had been running around with the children, not feeling the cold. But sitting down on the porch, it felt like the cold was slapping her in the face for believing she wouldn't feel it.

She took a deep breath and blanched when she tasted the air. It was stale, despite being out in the yard. Clara pulled her coat tighter, trying to stop the cold from getting to her. The gloves and hat weren't really helping. Every time she would breath out, she would see how cold it was.

Clara watched the kids play kickball, a longing to be with them. If she was with them, she would have been in line waiting for her turn to kick the ball. She was positive she would have scored.

"Aren't you going to play with them?"

Clara looked up to see Sister Rosemary, one of the nuns, walking up to her. She was youngest of the nuns, in her late thirties. Being the youngest of the nuns made her the favorite of the children. Rosemary would bend the rules for them at times, allowing them to play a little longer when the bell rang, give them extra cookies if they did their chores and read them stories before they would go to sleep.

"Sister Karen told me to sit out," Clara sighed in frustration. "I didn't get a chance to play."

"Why?" Rosemary laughed.

She shrugged, playing with the ends of her faded blue scarf. "I don't know."

"Come on Clara, Sister Karen wouldn't have done that unless you did something."

"She was just being plain mean." She watched as Ron, one of the boys, catch the ball.

"Don't be ridiculous. Sister Karen isn't mean for no reason."

"Well, she was to me."

Rosemary raised her eyebrows, noticing her evasive behavior. "Clara is there something you're not telling me? Clara...?"

She hesitated for a second. "I threw up on Peter," she admitted, looking at her shoes, trying to hide her shame.

"You threw up again?" sighed Rosemary. It was well known that Clara was one of the children that got sick the most. One week it was a sore throat, the next it was the flu, and then at times, it was both. It was always something.

"It's just a headache this time. I ran a little too fast and I got dizzy," she defended herself. "And Peter casually happened to be there in front of me. It's his fault actually if you think about it."

"Maybe you should go—" Rosemary started suggesting but got caught off abruptly.

"No," Clara yelped. "Sister Karen let me stay. And you know that if she thinks it's okay for me to stay outside, I'm alright. I promised you I'm not going to throw up on anyone again. Please don't send me back inside."

Rosemary looked at her dubiously, not believing her. But seeing Clara's pleading look, she nodded reluctantly. "Okay. But if it gets worse, you will immediately get inside. It's not good for you to strain yourself. You're barely getting over the flu."

"I know," she sighed. "It's always something."

Rosemary patted Clara's shoulder in a reassuring manner. "You're a good kid."

Clara glanced at her, not sure how that was supposed to make her feel better but instead said, "I know."

"You're going to be running with then soon."

 _I doubt it but..._ "I know."

"Remember there's always a silver lining in life."

"What's the silver lining of me getting sick all the time?" Clara asked, looking at her expectantly. Rosemary didn't get a chance to answer, her attention forced to someone else.

"Help! Sister Rosemary! Help me!"

The scream made Rosemary look up and sigh in exasperation. "Excuse me, Clara." Rosemary went to help one of the kids who had gotten his head stuck between the fence. "Jonathan, what have I told you?"

Clara unconsciously tightened the grip from her coat. She could feel a familiar ache growing. If she focused, Clara could hear clearly what the kids were talking about but she didn't feel well. She got up, deciding she had enough of fresh air. Cleaning her coat from any dirt that she caught sitting on the porch, she got inside.

The house was silent, everybody outside playing. It made it easier for her to take a much needed nap. The moment her head touch the pillow, she fell asleep. It felt less than a minute when she felt someone shake her.

"Clara. Clara." Someone kept singing her voice, trying to wake her up.

"Shut up," she mumbled, swatting them away, annoyed. "Let me sleep."

"Clara, get up," the voice insisted. She placed the pillow over her head, in hopes to stop their voice. It only seemed to make them more insistence. "Clara get up!"

She shot up when she felt cold water splash on her back. Clara gasped at how awful it felt. She squinted, her eyes adjusting to the lack of light in the bedroom. "What the heck?"

"Good, you're up. If that didn't work, I was going to throw you the chicken and that would have been bad. This chicken is scalding hot."

Clara saw that it was Naomi, one of the girls she shared her room with, was holding a plated out for her. Clara threw Naomi her pillow, that she dodge.

"Hey. I could have dropped the food."

"What is wrong with you Naomi? I'm going to get sick again."

Naomi's eyes widened comically. "Oh, my—! I forgot! I'm so sorry. Please don't tell Sister Karen. She'll ground me. You just wouldn't wake up. I didn't know what to do," she said defensively.

"Why are you here?" Clara tried to wipe the water from her body.

"Sister Rosemary was worried you would be hungry. You missed dinner," she explained when she saw Clara's lost expression.

"What time is it?"

"It's about to be nine, almost time to go to bed. You sleep for a really long time."

Clara nodded, looking at the window, outside already dark. Looking back, she saw Naomi still holding the plate patiently.

"Sorry," she murmured, grabbing the plate.

"It's fine," Naomi smiled, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry about the water. It was supposed to be for you to drink. I didn't think about getting you sick."

Clara raised her eyebrows. When did Naomi think? She was too impulsive. "Just don't do it again," she warned her. "I can't get sick again. Sister Karen will have me in house arrest."

Naomi nodded solemnly. "I heard you weren't feeling well."

Clara nodded, taking a bite of the steaming chicken. "Headache."

"Probably because of the cold," she offered, smiling sympathetically.

"Probably." But both of them knew it was because she was still sick. They didn't want to say it out loud for Clara's benefit.

"In case, you were wondering...—"

"I wasn't."

Naomi ignored her and continued talking. "You didn't miss much. We lost the game which made Caitlin very mad. Sister Karen had to put her in time out."

"Really?"

Naomi nodded vigorously. "It was funny. She made her pray for an hour because she 'used the lord's name in vain' or something like that."

"Seriously?" snorted Clara.

The bedroom door slammed open, making both girls look up. May, one of their roommates, entered. She closed the door with equal force, rattling the cross that was hanged near the door.

"Clara, you're awake," May greeted cheerfully. She stopped when she saw a soaked Clara. "Why are you wet?"

"Ask her." Clara shot Naomi a dark look, who simply winked cheekily, unapologetic.

"Figures." May bounced to them, jumping on the bed the other two were sitting on. May accidentally hit Naomi when she sat down.

"Jesus May, watch it." Naomi glared at the girl.

"Sorry," she chirped, not bothered by the other girl's grumpy behavior. "And you're not supposed to use our Lord's name in vain."

Naomi rolled her eyes. "You sound like Sister Karen."

"Where's Caitlin?" Clara asked, trying to stop a fight to happen between the two girls. Clara and her roommates got along, but May and Naomi often clashed, leaving the other two roommates to play referee between them.

"In the bathroom, showering," answered May. "Tom spilled milk on her hair on 'accident'."

"Really?" giggled Naomi. "That's the second time this week."

"Yep. He so likes her," bounced May, making Naomi stumble from the bed.

"May!" she cried out. "Gosh. Don't you have your own bed?"

"So do you," accused May. "Why are you in Clara's bed?"

"Because I was dropping off her lunch."

"Then why don't you move?"

"Because ...—"

Clara sighed, exasperated that they couldn't go a minute without arguing. She could try again to change the conversation but it would be in vain. She looked down when she realized that she had finished her food. A relief washed over her, finding an excuse to leave them, even though Caitlin and Clara had made a promise not to leave them alone.

"I'm going downstairs to drop the plate," Clara told them, getting up.

The girls ignore her, too busy bickering. Going downstairs to the kitchen, she saw that someone was there, the light turned on. Walking in hesitantly, she relaxed slightly that it was just the nuns. Both Sister Karen and Rosemary, were at the table, with cups in front of them. They stopped talking, looking up to see who it was.

"Clara did you get your dinner?" smiled Rosemary.

The other nun, Sister Karen, didn't smile, only observed her. She had always been the most severe out of the two nuns. Waiting for a mistake to happen so she could correct the children.

"Yes," Clara nodded, going to the sink to wash her dirty plate. "Thank you for the food. I'm sorry I missed dinner, I fell asleep."

"It's no problem," Rosemary waved her off. "You weren't going downstairs so I told Naomi to take it to you."

Clara smiled at her gratefully. "Thank you."

"You shouldn't thank me. Thank Sister Karen, it was her idea. I only ordered Naomi."

Clara finished drying off her plate, placing it back on the other plates. She turned and gave Karen a polite smile. "Thank you. The chicken was good."

Karen's only response was a nod.

Clara nodded to herself, not expecting anything more. "Well, I'm going to leave. Goodnight Sisters."

"Goodnight," Rosemary said back.

"Clara wait," Karen spoke up when she started walking out of the kitchen.

"Yes, Sister?" Clara turned around.

"Come here." Karen beckoned her. Glancing nervously at Rosemary, who gave her a reassuring smile, Clara walked up to Karen. In front of her, Karen grabbed her by the shoulders. "Your cheeks are flushed," observed Karen disapprovingly. "How long were you outside?"

"My head was smushed to the pillow," she told her nervously. "That's why I'm red."

Karen pursed her lips. "Is that so?"

"I got inside quickly."

Karen looked at Rosemary. "Did you see her get in Sister?"

"I was too busy with Jonathan to see when Clara got inside," Rosemary admitted. "But when I was done with Jonathan I saw that she was gone."

"I went to my room to sleep that's why I missed dinner and why my face is ..." She trailed off when she saw Karen stared at her face with an intensity.

"How many times have I told you, children, to sleep face forward?" Karen scolded her.

"I'm sorry," she quickly apologized. "I forgot, I had a headache and forgot."

Rosemary smiled at her gently. "It's fine Clara. Sister Karen was just being herself."

"You can go now Clara," Karen dismissed her.

Muttering another goodnight, Clara practically bolted out of the kitchen. Sister Karen always made her feel uneasy. She was always strict with Clara, watching everything she did. Upstairs, down the hallway, Clara could hear giggling and whispers coming from her room _. They're too_ _loud. They're going to get us in trouble._ When she turned the door handle is when they finally silenced.

"Shut up." Clara heard May hiss.

"It's me," she told them when she slipped in the room. It was dark, the only light shining from the window.

"You scared us, Clara," Naomi chastised her.

"I could hear you guys across the hall," she told them. Clara couldn't see them but she could hear May fidget.

"I told you we were too loud."

"But it's Clara," Naomi reminded them, stretching her name. "She has a super good hearing. It's spooky at times."

"Like a bat, right Clara?" May whispered teasingly. They couldn't see Clara nodding distractedly, hearing everything perfectly. She was focused on collecting her necessities in the dark.

"You're so stupid May," Naomi retorted.

"Clara, come on," Caitlin spoke up.

That made Clara stop and squint in the darkness. "Caitlin? You're back from your shower?"

"Yeah. Came back and found these two _alone_ , arguing. They were surprised to see you gone. Apparently, you left them alone." Clara could feel Caitlin's steely gaze.

"Uh... I'm going to the bathroom, I have to change and brush my teeth."

"Don't use the middle stall if you have to pee. The toilet isn't flushing," Caitlin warned you.

"Good luck," sang May a little too loudly.

"Shut up May," hissed Naomi. "You're going to get us in trouble again."

"That was Caitlin's fault last time. She was being too loud."

"That's because you stepped on my hand."

Clara rolled her eyes, thinking that it was all their fault. With May and Naomi's nonstop arguing about everything, Caitlin's loud obnoxious laughs and Clara's always shutting them up, she was surprised that they didn't in trouble that often.

The bathrooms, thankfully, were empty but were all wet and dirty. The boy's bathroom had stopped working two weeks ago, forcing the girls to share their bathroom with them. Every day there would be fights, the girls complaining at how messy the boys were and the boys complaining that the girls spend too much time in the showers. No matter how much they comprised, a fight would come up.

Clara and her roommates had decided it would be best to be the last ones to take a shower, not having to deal with the arguing. It was a great plan but the downside was that they never got warm water and they had to deal with the soggy towels and dirty soaps.

"Boys are disgusting," she muttered and hurried to change and brush her teeth. Clara tried to ignore the pungent smell that was coming from the toilets. She practically cried in relief when she took a breath of fresh air in the hallway.

As quietly as she could, Clara tipped toed to her room, trying not to wake up anybody. Inside her room, she dumped her other clothes into her bed and crawled over to where the girls were.

For the first time of the day, Clara smiled, feeling relaxed. It was rare for her to be at ease but these moments made her be like every other young person; carefree.

When the nuns would force all the children to go to sleep, the four roommates would get up after everybody was asleep and huddle up in the far corner from the room, where it would obscure them from view. They would make a small circle, talking and giggling about whatever happened that day. Clara had joined them in a middle of an argument.

"He's so dumb," Caitlin giggled.

"Yeah, all boys are," May agreed.

"Shut up May, you always complain about them but that doesn't stop you from pinning after Peter."

"Stop it. No, I don't," she said in a shrill voice.

"Yes, you do. It's _so_ pathetic."

"I think Peter is stupid," argued May.

"You're only saying that because Caitlin said that," pointed out Naomi.

"No, I didn't."

"Do you have anything to say, Clara?" Caitlin asked.

She looked at the three of them, shaking her head. She didn't really speak, only listened to them when it came to those things. It was difficult to voice her opinion when Naomi and May started arguing, which was all the time.

"See? Can we move on?" pleaded May desperately.

"Absolutely not," Naomi shot her down. "Maybe Clara has nothing to say because she doesn't know what you guys were talking about."

"That boys are stupid and May absurdly agreed even when we all know she had the hots for Peter," Clara told them. "I know. I heard you guys."

"Like I said, super good hearing."

"Then what do you think; is Peter attractive, Clara?" Naomi asked slyly, shooting a look to May, whose face flushed a deep red.

"I never—"

"Hushed May," Caitlin silenced her. "What do you think Clara? As in you are ordered to tell us what you think."

Clara smiled at her authoritative tone. "Alright. Let me think about."

Peter was one of the boys that always behaved. He had always been too skinny and short. Clara didn't see what as great about him, he was plain boring just like every other boy in the orphanage but she didn't want to embarrass May. Caitlin and Naomi were already teasing her.

"He's alright," she said carefully.

Caitlin laughed gleefully. "See? Even Clara agree with us. Peter is ugly."

"No, she didn't. She said he was alright."

"Which is code for that he's ugly," Naomi smirked.

"Shut your mouth, Naomi. Don't you ever shut up?"

Clara cringed at May's sharp voice, making her close her eyes, leaning against the wall, feeling a familiar wave of nausea.

"Clara?" Naomi asked. "Not feeling well again?"

"I'm fine." She opened her eyes, seeing that they were looking at her. "I'm fine, just resting."

May rolled her eyes. "Honestly Naomi, did you expect Clara to say? She's not fine? She could be dying and she would still say she's fine."

"I'm not dying," Clara denied quickly.

"You better not," Caitlin grinned at her. "Who's going to help me in math?"

"Not May," snorted Naomi, earning a hard slap on the shoulder. "Ouch. That hurt May. It was a joke."

"I didn't find it funny."

"Because you don't have a sense of humor."

"Shut up," Clara mumbled, not appreciating how their voices made her throbbing headache worse. They didn't hear her, too caught up in their argument. Clara looked around desperately, feeling extremely warm.

 _Don't throw up. Don't throw up,_ she chanted. Having enough, she stood up and announced, "I'm going to bed."

"What? No!" whined Caitlin, throwing herself on the floor. "We can stop talking about boys."

"No, it's fine. I'm tired."

"You just took a five-hour nap," Naomi pointed out. "You out of all of us, she is the most energetic."

"Sorry to disappoint." Clara shrugged and went to her bed. She could hear them groaning and telling her to get back, stop being so boring. She closed her eyes, feeling a buzzing sensation. Despite trying to block their voice out, she could hear them very clearly.

"Why is she like that?" grumbled May.

"She's gotten so broody," Naomi whispered loudly.

"And boring," added May. "Always tired and not feeling well."

"Shut up," hissed Caitlin. "She could hear you."

"I can hear you very, very clearly," Clara spoke up, her back towards them.

"Clara you have bat ears," giggled someone. Their voices had started sounding the same as the headache grew.

Clara couldn't explain why she had these headaches or momentary burning aches. But everybody said that she was just a sensitive child, who got colds easily. It made sense when she was four but now, being twelve, she knew it was something different.

Her biggest fear was that all those small symptoms would be growing into something big, like cancer or influenza. The previous week, she had read an article in the newspaper, that those were symptoms of smallpox. Clara had counted and, to her absolute horror, had a few of them. Headaches, vomiting, and rashes.

Clara didn't get a chance to read more because Karen had snatched the newspaper from her hands, forcing her to eat her porridge and stop reading that nonsense. From that day, she had been banned from reading the newspaper.

But that didn't stop from Clara firmly believing that there definitely was something wrong with her. She couldn't place her finger on what it was. It wasn't until a week later Clara found out what it was.

* * *

"Are you serious?" Clara groaned and frowned at her toast. She picked it up, taking a vicious bite.

Next to her, Naomi cackled. "Ron said that he saw rats last week."

Caitlin squawked in fear. May, from the other end, leaned forward to glare at her. "That's not helping Naomi."

"I don't think they're rats," Clara tried to reassure Caitlin. "Besides, the attic is an easy chore. It's a one-day thing."

"I hate these chores," May complained.

At breakfast, Karen had announced the chores of the week. Each week, the children would get assign a different chore. It was a way for them to contribute to their community and to learn new things, that's what the nuns would tell them.

Naomi and May had gotten mop duty while Clara and Caitlin were assigned to clean the attic. The job was very simple. They would clean it from cobwebs, rat droppings. Move the boxes that all the seasonal clothes were stored so they wouldn't get wet from the weather.

It was a simple task but that didn't mean Clara was happy about it. The attic was extremely cold in the winter, giving Clara a higher chance to fall ill again. For Caitlin it was the rats, they liked to hibernate in the winter. The last time she saw, she refused to leave her room until the rat was killed.

"I could do it alone," Clara offered. "It's not that hard."

"No." Caitlin shook her head. "It's not fair for you."

"No, it's fine. If I didn't want to do it I wouldn't be volunteering. Trust me, I'm not that nice."

"See, Cat? She's okay with it," reasoned May. She touched Clara's arm and flinched. "Jeez, Clara, your really warm. What did you fell asleep? On the oven."

"No," Caitlin said. "I feel guilty."

"If you feel guilty, you can do my chores," Naomi said slyly. "That way you can ease your Catholic guilt."

Clara rolled her eyes. "Now you're just making fun of me. But seriously Cat, it's fine. I can do it alone."

Caitlin looked torn but the thought of seeing a rat got the best of her. "Thank you," she gushed. "I owe you. Like really owe you."

"Yeah, you do. With Ron and Jonathan having the attic last week, it's double the work."

They fell silent, trying to finish their food quickly before one of the nuns announced breakfast was over. In less than ten minutes and Rosemary yelled that they finished their food. Everybody quickly got up, leaving their plates for Shane and Tom, who got the chose to pick up and clean the dishes. Everybody headed to their respective chores. Some went outside, others upstairs and the rest stayed downstairs.

"Thank you so much," Caitlin repeated over and over again as Clara and May went upstairs.

"I get it," Clara told her, getting annoyed. "If you don't shut up, I'll take it back."

"Right, sorry," Caitlin apologized. "But thank you. I'll give you my dessert tonight."

Clara grinned mischievously. "You better."

Caitlin took a step back from her, pulling the collar of her shirt. "Wow, it's really hot in here. Are you hot?"

Clara frowned quizzically and shook her head. May had said a similar thing to her, but as she touched her forehead, she felt fine. Clara hoped she wasn't getting sick again, she would go crazy going bedrest for another week.

May appeared and grabbed Caitlin wrist, dragging her away from Clara. "Come on. We need to start moping, there is a huge mess in the kitchen."

"Wait... What? I'm helping you guys?" exclaimed Caitlin. "I thought you guys were joking."

"No, we weren't," May told her seriously.

"But—but—"

"But nothing," Clara silenced her. "You don't get to be lazy while the rest are slaving away."

Caitlin scowled at her. "I hope you run into a rat. Or suffer. Like a lot."

Clara waved at them in amusement as May dragged Caitlin away. When they disappeared from her view, she headed to the attic.

"Watch out."

Clara felt someone push her forward. On instinct, her hands went to stop the fall. She cringed at the sharp pain in her palms.

"Sorry," someone snickered. Clara glanced up to see Ron grinning at her.

Clara glanced up to see Ron grinning at her.

"Ron," she scowled.

"I said watch out," he reminded her haughtily but he did help her get up. Clara straightened her clothes when she was standing.

She glared at him. "You're an idiot."

"I know. You remind me each day."

Clara glared at her palms that were all scrapped. There was a speck of dots of blood. "Look what you did," she grumbled and wiped away the blood.

"That sucks." Ron grabbed one of her hands, rubbing them in what he thought was a soothing manner. He stopped when he looked at her plans. "You're so dramatic. Your hands are fine."

"What are you talking about?" Clara glanced at her palms in confusion and saw that they were fine, only a little red. "No. I thought that _—_ huh." She had been sure that they were scrapped. She could still feel the pain when they scrapped the floor.

Ron smirked at her. "Or did you only say that so I would hold your hand? Got to say, Welsh, well played because it worked."

She snatched her hand away from him, glaring at him. "Nobody told you to grab it."

"Your eyes said everything."

"I wasn't aware annoyance was misinterpreted to affection."

"Like the great poet's say, there's a fine line between love and hate."

"No there isn't," she said flatly. "Why were you running? This whole thing could have been avoided if you weren't running. Don't you have chores like everyone else?"

"I do. Running is part of it." She looked at him in confusion, making him elaborate more. "Me and Jonathan got the dirty clothes. I'm picking them and taking them to him."

She rolled her eyes at him.

"Don't give me that judgy look Clara. That system was working well until I slammed against you." He wagged his finger at her. "What did you get that's got you so grumpy?" He poked her shoulder.

"The attic," she told him flatly.

He chortled. "Oh wow. Seriously? That's just great, not for you but I'm just saying. Me and Jonathan got it last week and let's just say, we left you a nice surprise."

She scrunched up her face in pain. "You guys are unbelievable."

A sudden slyly smile crossed Ron's face. "So... you threw up on Peter?"

"Oh no," she groaned, her face reddening in embarrassment and anger.

"I heard it was gross."

"You didn't see?"

He shook his head. "Sadly, I didn't get the privilege to witness the great humiliation."

She buried her face in her hands, mortified. "Someone bury me."

"I was talking about Peter. Don't sweat it," Ron assured her. "He's a prick. He deserved it."

"Really?" She peeked a little.

He nodded. "Last week he ratted me and Johnathan out to Sister Karen for breaking one of the plates."

She smiled, putting her hands down, feeling slightly better. He grinned at her and opened his mouth to talk again but was interrupted.

"Ron? Where are you? Get over here!" Johnathan's irritated voice drifted from downstairs.

"Hold on." He motioned her to stay and turned to yell, "I'm going. Stop being impatient."

Clara winced, finding his voice to be too loud. "I guess goodbye," she said, rubbing her temples. Why was everything suddenly too loud? It looked like she was getting sick again.

"Duty calls. Good luck, you'll need it." Swiftly, he kissed her cheek before running off.

"Please tell me he didn't just flirt with me," Clara grimaced, wiping her cheek childishly. Forgetting her brief interaction with him, she headed to the attic. Inside, she saw that she had been right. The attic was a complete mess. Ron and Jonathan seemed to have done the opposite of cleaning. Some of the boxes were turned over, the contents inside spilling. Cobwebs were hanging all over the place.

She closed her eyes, trying to keep her temper in check. She was going to make those boys pay. Clara winced when she felt a sharp burn on her right palm where she had scraped them. _Especially Ron._ Muttering profanities, Clara went to work immediately, hoping to finish too fast.

Rolling up her sleeves, Clara started with the cobwebs. Grabbing a cloth, she went all over the place taking them down. She tripped twice from the boxes that were scattered. Clara could feel sweat forming on her back. Going up and down the attic to take down cobwebs was a workout. Satisfied with herself, not seeing any more cobwebs, she went to the fallen boxes.

Going on her knees, she shoved the clothes into them, mentally promising to fold them properly later. Clara frowned when she tried to move the box and couldn't. It was too heavy. She didn't want to take out the clothes, that would make a bigger mess and double her time there but with them inside, she couldn't do anything.

"I can do this," she told herself.

She positioned herself to push the box. Taking a deep breath, she pushed with all her strength. Unfortunately, it wasn't much. It barely moved an inch. Switching positions, placing her back against the box and her palms flat against the rough wood, she pushed. The box slowly scooted back.

With more strength, Clara forced herself to push the box. She felt her body burn in pain, her palms aching. That should have made her stop, she was overextending herself. But she didn't stop. Clara was determined to move the box.

"Come on," she growled, giving a hard shove. The box slid easily, making her fall back. She added more force when a loud booming made her cover her ears, making her groan. The noise felt like it came from behind her. When she looked over her shoulder, Clara saw nothing. She rubbed her temple, still hearing the painfully loud noise, unsure where it came from.

 _"Ron what is wrong with you?"_ Clara could clearly hear Jonathan snap at Ron. It sounded like they were near the attic.

 _"It was an accident, Johnathan. Calm down. Just grab that towel and we'll clean it."_

 _"They're going to find out we broke the shelf."_

 _"No, they won't. No one comes to the basement."_

"Wait—what is—?" Clara breathed in bewilderment. She tried to sit up but ended up slipping back. She screeched when she felt something sharp pierce one of her hands. She got up quickly, hissing in pain. Clara felt worse when she saw a small piece of wood sticking in her skin, blood dripping down.

"Oh no," she groaned. "Shoot."

Clara looked around, trying to find a cloth to stop her wound from bleeding. Clara looked at her bloody hand in disgust. Looking around frantically, not sure what to do, Clara sat down on the trunk. Gritting her teeth, she slowly pulled out the wood.

"Ah," she whimpered, feeling small pieces of wood stabbing her.

She threw the piece of wood to the side. A buzzing noise erupted all over her body, blurring her vision. Clara made a choking noise, trying to breathe. Desperately, she wiped the blood in her leg. Clara wiped the blood on her leg again. She felt awful, her entire body buzzing, making her dizzy. Finding a cloth on a far corner, she raced to grab it. The buzzing was growing, making her stop. It didn't help with Jonathan's and Ron's constant arguing.

 _"Just go get a mop."_

 _"Where?"_

 _"There's one upstairs."_

 _"I'll be back."_

 _Stop it, stop it,_ she berated herself. _Just blood. A little cut_.

Clara saw the cloth she used to clean, hanging by a metal bar. Stumbling, she grabbed the dirty cloth, clenching it in her bloody hand, trying to gain control. She staggered back, the buzzing making her frantic. Clara choked when she felt a sudden burning pain.

Not having control of herself, she screamed in agony. Looking at her injured hand, Clara's eyes widened in horror. The cloth was on fire along with her hand. Letting out a loud screech, Clara dropped the cloth in shock, stomping on it frantically, trying to put out the fire. She flinched when she felt the fire burn her shirt.

"Clara!"

The fire disappeared with her frantic stomps. She continued stomping even after the fire was out. Clara's entire body was seizing in pain. She cried out in relief when the fire was out from her disfigured hand. It was red, burnt, the flesh completely destroyed.

"Oh my God!" she gasped, flinching when she moved her burned fingers. How did they get on fire? "I'm going to hell. I'm damned for eternity."

"Clara! What happened?!"

Clara gasped, trying to calm herself down. Her hand was throbbing, the pain indescribable. She put a hand over her mouth, trying to stop herself from crying in pain. "No, no, no. This—it's wrong. Lord help me," she whispered.

"Clara!"

Clara winced at how loud the voice sounded. She tried to make a coherent noise but was unable. Taking loud breaths, Clara could feel her pain going away. She stared straight ahead, afraid to look at her hand. She was afraid. This could be the devil work.

"Clara! Answer me!"

Rosemary's voice sounded closer now. Hearing her go up the rickety stairs, Clara mind reacted. For some reason, she wanted to hide the burnt cloth. Her eyes darted everywhere trying to find a place to hide it. Dashing to the box, she opened it and shoved the cloth inside. That moment, Rosemary's head popped up the whole.

"Clara, why aren't you answering me?" she demanded.

She rubbed her temple, cringing at her loud voice. "Stop shouting," she groaned, her eyes darting frantically.

Rosemary climbed up, surveying the area. "What happened? Why did you scream?"

"This—" Clara licked her lips, silently raising her hand to show her burned hand. Rosemary gasped, her eyes widening in horror.

"Clara! What happen to you?"

"I don't know." In that moment Clara broke down, sobbing. "I don't know what's—"

Rosemary rushed to her side, she grabbed her right hand and examined it. Clara flinched waiting for the pain but didn't feel anything. Her eyes widened when she saw that it was her completely intact, nothing wrong with it besides being covered in blood.

"No—it was—no," she fumbled over her words, confused.

"Where did this blood come from?" Rosemary demanded. "Did you cut yourself?"

"It came from..." Clara trailed off when she saw her bare palm. It was fine. The melted skin was gone. There was still blood, but it was just there as if she had dipped her hand in a red paint. She felt her breathing grew ragged. "It was... It was...—"

"Clara, take a deep breath," Rosemary ordered. "Calm down. You're fine. Breath. You're okay."

 _No, I'm not okay,_ she wanted to scream but could barely breathe. Nodding, Clara slowly took deep breaths.

"Breath."

"I can't," Clara gasped.

"Yes, you can. You're doing that right now," Rosemary reminded her gently. Nodding, Clara took deep breaths, feeling oxygen entering her lungs. Realizing that she had bend over, she straightened up.

"Oh my goodness," exclaimed Rosemary, looking at her fondly.

"What?" Clara asked, worried that she saw something.

Rosemary looked at her in a reassuring way, making Clara suspicious. "I think you got your period."

"I'm what?" Clara asked in bewilderment.

"You're menstruating. Don't you remember I while back we _—_ "

"No, I know what that is," Clara stopped her, running her fingers through her hair, frustrated. "I—I..."

"It explains the blood. And your jeans." Rosemary pointed to her legs. Looking down, Clara saw her blood on one her thighs. She remembered frantically, wiping the blood from her hand to her jeans, scared out of her mind. "You don't have to be scared. But it is a lot of blood," Rosemary mused.

"I'm—" Clara was going to correct her when something told her to stop. She gingerly touched the blood, grimacing. Looking at Rosemary uncertainly, Clara nodded reluctantly. "I guess I did."

Rosemary laughed. "Okay well, this is such great news. You're women now."

She frowned. "But...—"

"But what?"

Clara wanted to tell her what happened how she had accidentally stabbed her hand and then went to grab a cloth that caught on fire for an unknown reason and how her hand had magically healed itself.

Even inside her head, it sounded crazy, saying it out loud would be worse. There was no way the nuns would believe her. She would be taken to the shrink and spend the rest of her life there. No one would believe her.

"Nothing," she said quietly. "Just nothing."

Rosemary smiled. "Let's go to Sister Karen. She'll know what to do."

Clara nodded stiffly, trying to get the blood out of her hands.

"Wait... Why does it smell like something was on fire?" Rosemary asked.

Clara's eyes widened, her eyes darting to the box. "I—I don't know," stuttered Clara. "It smelled like that when I got here."

Rosemary shook her head disapprovingly. "Those boys are in so much trouble." She smiled when she looked at Clara. "Come on."

Having no choice but follow her, Clara in a desperate do attempt, wiped the remaining blood on her leg. When they got out of the attic, she was a relief to see no one outside.

"Only you heard?" she asked hopefully.

"No," Rosemary admitted. "It was Ron who heard and came to me."

"Oh no." She felt the blood of her face drain. He was never going to let it go.

"He was worried," she tried to console her. Clara stared blankly at her bloodied leg. "Come on. Let's get you change."

Rosemary took her to Sister Karen's office. Knocking on the door, they waited for her to let them in. Clara had only been to Sister Karen's office once, two years ago when she got in trouble for smacking Ron in the face with a book. She only did that because he had made racial comments toward Caitlin.

"What happened?" Karen asked in alarm, seeing the blood on Clara. "Are you alright Clara?"

Rosemary grinned, putting her arms around Clara's shoulder. "She got her menstruation."

Karen's eyes widened in surprise. "Oh my goodness."

"Yeah. Oh my goodness," Clara said.

The nuns didn't notice her tone. They took Clara to the bathroom, proceeding to help her. Clara half listened to Rosemary and Karen prattle on about what to do now that she was bleeding each month, where to get her necessities, what to do if she were to have an accident. Clara thoughts were consumed on what happened in the attic.

What had happened? She stared blankly at her hand, smooth, showing no signs of previously being injured. What happened to her hand? Those strange occurrences were not natural. They were the work of something higher. She just didn't know what it was; a miracle or a catastrophe?

 _God works in mysterious ways. But so does the devil. Don't confuse the two of them._ That's what Sister Karen would tell them. Clara would always roll her eyes in exasperation. She had never understood but know Clara knew what Sister Karen meant.

"I know you're a little nervous, but I promise you, it's going to be okay. It's normal," Karen assured her, giving her a genuine smile.

 _Is it really normal?_ Clara wondered, consciously clenching her right hand.

"Every woman goes through this," Karen continued. "And there's nothing to worry..." Although Karen was talking about something else, Clara pretended that she was telling her that whatever happened to her, it was normal, nothing to worry about.

"Can I go?" Clara interrupted her. "I don't feel well."

"Do you have cramps?" Rosemary asked. "I can make you a tea."

"It's fine. I just need to lay down."

Clara could feel Sister Karen's eyes on her. She tried to remain impassive, not to show her fear.

"Let the girl go, Sister Rosemary," Karen ordered. "You can go Clara. I hope you feel better."

"Sister Karen?" Clara asked timidly.

"Yes?"

"What happens if the devil decides to punish you and you don't know why?"

The nuns looked at her strangely, alarmed by her question. Clara avoided their questioning stares.

"Why would you say that Clara?" Rosemary asked, her face ached in motherly concern. "Did you do something?"

"No." _Yes._

"Sister Rosemary," Karen spoke up. "I believe she asked the question to me"

"I'm sorry Sister." Rosemary bowed her head. "I was worried about Clara."

Karen shifted her attention to Clara. "My dear, the devil doesn't pick anybody. He picks the sinners and makes them pay for what they have done. The only way to save yourself is to repent your sins and pray for forgiveness to the lord."

"Really?" Clara said in a small voice.

"But you don't have to worry about. You haven't done anything."

"No, but thank you," stuttered Clara. "I'm going to go now."

"Don't forget to pray," Karen reminded her.

"Trust me I won't."

Like the previous night, Clara got out of the room as quickly as possible, not stopping until she reached her room. Everybody was still doing their chores. She passed various of the children who were cleaning the furniture and windows. Some of them ignored her while others stared at her curiously.

Clara was relieved to not see none of her roommates in the hallways, she was not in a mood to talk. It was almost supper time, which meant no one would be heading to their room immediately, giving her time to calm down.

Clara sat in her bed, lifting her legs, pressing them to her chest. She felt her body shake in fear, everything replaying in her head in a continuous loop. She wasn't crazy, she could still feel the burning pain that engulfed her. It was clear in her but she couldn't help questioned herself.

 _Maybe it was all in my head_ , she tried to reason.

 _But where did all the blood come from? The burnt cloth? How do you explain that?_

 _I can't. I just can't._

 _Then pray. Maybe the devil will let you go._

 _Where's my silver lining?_

Clara stared helplessly at the empty room, hearing everybody talking downstairs, oblivious to her turmoil. Their voices rang across the room, she could everything they were saying. Sobbing, she buried her face in her legs. The whole ordeal in the attic had now forced her to pretend she was menstruating, which she wasn't. Clara was going to lie to them every month. What was she going to do?

 _"The only way to save yourself is to repent your sins and pray for forgiveness to the lord."_

Biting her lip, she tried to stop herself sobbing but could feel tears streaming down her cheeks. Giving up, Clara laid down, burying her face into her pillow, letting out a choked up sob. Never in her life had she been torn between fear and curiosity.

 _Everything is going to be okay. It could be worse. Just pray and everything will be forgiven._

* * *

The following morning, she woke up with blood stained sheets. After the girls calmed her down, she found out that she got her actual menstruation. There was her silver lining.

* * *

 **Hello, to everybody who's reading. I decided to start a new year with a new story.** **I'm super excited for this story. I love anything related to Marvel, especially X-Men. I've had plans to do it for a while but had never had a chance. But after seeing the X-Men Apocalypse trailer, I got more motivated to write this story and I finally completed this chapter. I would love to hear what you thought of this.**

 **Because I don't have a beta, there at times going to be grammatical errors but I will go back and revise them in each chapter. And sometimes when I'm doing that, I will add an extra sentence here and there because I felt like it would fix the flow.**

 **And a warning, I'm only going to follow the film universe events, not the comics, because this is, after all, X-Men films. Which means I'm going to make up a few things from the character that aren't like in the comics. I will try to keep them close to as how they portray them in the films.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own anything from X-Men or Marvel, I only own my OC, any unknown dialogue, plot and other characters I make up as I go. Anything familiar obviously isn't mine**.

 **(Also, I got the story title from a lyric of the song _"I Found"_ by Amber Run. The song actually inspired the story. It's a really good song, you should listen to it. To get a vibe of the story.)**


	2. Hypochondria

**This chapter took a long time than expected to be posted but something came up in my life that took all my attention. Anyways...**

 **Warning: Nothing graphic, but there's a brief mention of child molestation.**

 **Besides that, here's the next chapter. Happy reading :)**

* * *

 **Chapter Two:** **Hypochondria**

* * *

 ** _"I'm afraid I can't explain myself, sir. Because I am not myself, you see?"  
_** ― Lewis Carroll

* * *

 _" _Blue moon_  
 _Now I'm no longer alone_  
 _Without a dream in my heart_  
 _Without a love of my own__

 _Blue moon_  
 _You knew just what I was there for_  
 _You heard me saying a prayer for_  
 _Someone I really could care for_

 _And then they suddenly appeared before me_  
 _The only one my arms will ever hold_  
 _I heard somebody whisper_  
 _Please adore me_  
 _And when I looked_  
 _The moon had turned to gold_ _"_

For the past day, she hummed the song over and over again, just focusing on it, blocking everything else. But everytime she paused, her mind no longer focused and she would get overwhelmed with the sudden noises. Covering her ears and humming the tune as loudly as she could was what she did. It made her look crazy but it helped. She felt calm and wasn't in pain.

Unfortunately, Clara had to stop her meditation, it was Monday, meaning she was being forced to go back to her tedious routine. Clara closed her eyes tightly at the loud noises that were coming downstairs.

Why was everybody so loud in the morning? Why wouldn't Sister Karen quiet down those obnoxious girls that wouldn't stop giggling? Why was Kevin tapping his foot so loudly? Why were May's knees making so much noise when she moved? Why was the clock ticking too quickly for her liking? Why was she even hearing all those things? Why? Why?

 _It's not real. It's just in your head._

That's what she had been telling herself every hour. She didn't know which one was better; what was going onto be real or that it was all happening in her head.

"Clara," Caitlin timidly called out from behind her. She cringed at how loud she sounded. "Are you going to get breakfast?"

She exhaled deeply and slowly opened her eyes. The brightness made her squint but she was more focus on the noise. She tried to only focus on one sound, Caitlin's breathing. After a few seconds, she felt the noise become muffled but still present, and she relaxed. Reluctant, Clara sat up and pulled the covers.

"What did you say again?" She picked up her hair, that was still damp from the shower that she had taken that morning, a suggestion from May, saying that it would calm her down and soothe her nerves. It worked in her brief time under the scalding hot water but the moment she stepped out, everything slammed into her.

"Are you going to get breakfast?" her friend repeated herself.

"Right. Yes, I'm going." She turned around to face her three roommates, all change into their school uniforms and prepared to go down for breakfast. They were waiting for her to get ready.

Caitlin glanced at Naomi helplessly, who shrugged, not offering help. "Um, alright. We're going right now so why don't you with us?"

Clara only hummed in response and picked up her wrinkled shirt and put it on, buttoning it up slowly. Her fingers fumbled with the last button and decided to leave like that, her legs cold. She moved over to the other side of the bed and slipped on her plaid skirt, tucking in her shirt. She sat down and finished putting on her long socks and shoes.

"Well... aren't you going to get up?" asked May tentatively. "We're kind of hungry and we might not get any good food."

"Don't worry I will." But made no effort to move. She felt like she was glued to the spot. She was going to have to go out and face the world when the last thirty hours she had spent it either in this room or in the bathroom. She didn't know what to do or what to feel.

"Then get up," snapped Naomi impatiently, stepping up and glaring at Clara. "Stop, whatever you're doing. You're kinda pathetic."

"Naomi," May hissed, pinching her arm. "What is wrong with you?"

"Well I'm sorry," Naomi huffed in annoyance. "She's being difficult and you know I'm not very patient. Why is she acting like that? She's always an oddball but not like this. What the hell is wrong with her?"

"Naomi," Caitlin said sharply, smacking her arm. "Why are you being insensitive? She is freaking—"

"No she's right," Clara interrupted her. She got up from her bed and faced her three roommates, that were looking at her cautiously, afraid that any second she would have a meltdown. "I need to get over whatever is going on with me. It's normal. I'm acting out for something that isn't that big deal."

Naomi looked thrown off by her sudden change of attitude. "Jeez Clara," she said. "You're going to give us a whiplash one of these days."

"You were just complaining for me to get up," Clara pointed out. "That's what I did."

Naomi made an exasperated noise. "Whatever, I'm going to breakfast. You give me a fucking headache." She stomped away, making Clara crack a smile at her childish attitude.

May looked at Clara and gave her an encouraging smile. "I'm glad you seem okay Clara." She turned around and followed Naomi, leaving Clara alone with Caitlin.

"I'm glad you're feeling better. I was worried," admitted Caitlin bashfully.

"I'm sorry about yesterday morning. I had no idea what came to me. I think it was a nightmare."

To her relief, only her roommates had heard her scream. They weren't that loud, according to Caitlin. After her meltdown, Clara stayed in the bed of the rest of the day, claiming that she felt ill and no one bothered her for the rest, giving her enough time to calm down and rest.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine, just... a lot in my mind. More than I can handle."

"Penny for your thoughts?" She grinned at her, taking a seat on one of the beds and patted the empty spot next to her. Both girls always had the policy to be honest which each other and they tried the hardest. But Clara, deep down in her gut, knew that what she experienced was to be kept to herself.

"Maybe another time."

Caitlin's smile fell. "Are you sure?"

"I'm really hungry and—"

"No, I get it." She stopped her, but her face was pinched into an uncomfortable expression. "You don't want to talk. And I'm kind of hungry too."

"Are you mad?" Clara asked hesitantly, and Caitlin shook her head but she knew that she was lying.

The tension wasn't obvious but it was there and as both girls went downstairs, Clara could feel the resentment radiating from Caitlin. When they reached the dining room, Clara was overwhelmed by the noises and stopped, trying to stop herself from covering her ears. When she had gotten closer downstairs, she had managed to block it but now being there, she had difficulty regain her senses.

A voice among the clattering of the cups, forks scraping the plates, children chewing, the voice of Ron stood out. Everything that she heard from the previous day, came to her and it made her rethink of what she heard. She needed to find out what she heard was real, if not it would drive her more insane than she already felt.

"Clara?" Caitlin nudged her.

"I'm going to sit with Ron today."

"Why?"

"Because I need to—ask him something." Her short hesitation, made Caitlin look at her knowingly.

"You can do better but go get him," she whispered and nudged her towards the empty seat next to Ron. Clara grimaced at the knowing look she was receiving from her.

"I wasn't going to get him but I do know I can do better." Slowly, she trudged towards him and sat down next to him and sighed when she saw how horrendously he was eating his food. "Hey, Ron."

"Hey, Clara, missed you yesterday," he grinned at her, mouth full of oatmeal flying out. She moved her seat from him and took a plate in front of her. "Toast?"

He shoved the plate to her face, forcing her to take a step back. She wrinkled her nose when she saw that it was soggy.

"That's disgusting Ron." She pushed him away from her. "What happened to it?"

"Jonathan spilled milk on it," he explained. "Shoved me and made me drop my milk."

"And you thought it would be a good idea to give it to me? Why Ron?"

He shrugged. "I was just being polite. You looked hungry."

"And thanks to you, now I'm not," she muttered.

"It doesn't taste bad, actually." To prove his point, Ron took a bite and made exaggerated noises of pleasure. "Hmm—so good. So, so good. Look what you're missing."

She cringed, trying to not throw up. "Stop it, Ron. You're so disgusting."

He laughed and grabbed another piece of toast. He smeared jam all over it and showed it into his mouth. She glanced longingly at where he friends were sitting, eating like normal people. Remembering why she bothered sitting next to Ron, she decided to take the opportunity to ask him what she needed to know.

"Ron?" He made a noise to show that he was listening. "When you were in the basement cleaning the other day... did you break something in by any chance?"

His reaction made her stomach fall. He looked at her in panic and she could hear a loud noise echoing in her ears. His heart beat. "No. Did you _see_ something broken?"

"Maybe." Clara tilted her head and could hear his heart hammered loudly against his chest, making her realize that he was scared. "You _did_ broke something."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did. I know you're lying."

"How did you find out?" Ron hissed, leaning in and his nose brushed her cheek. "Me and Jonathan hid the shelf."

She leaned away slightly. "Well, not that good."

"What were you doing down in the basement so early?" he asked suspiciously.

"That's none of your business," she said sharply, tugging on her skirt nervously, feeling like _he_ could hear her heartbeat. But he couldn't because he wasn't crazy.

Ron looked at her doubtfully. "Are you going to tell one of the Sisters?"

Clara looked at him, offended that she would do that. "If I was, I would have told them already."

"But that would be lying. You don't lie."

 _No, trust me, I do lie._ "Not unless they ask me. I will simply not be saying anything. Lying is not telling the truth. This isn't lying so I'm fine."

He still looked unsettled but begrudgingly accepted the fact that she wouldn't say anything. Clara felt a hot breath and realized she was still leaning into Ron and pulled away immediately. She cleared her throat and grabbed a toast, shoving it in her mouth. Out of the corner of her eyes, she could see the flash of disappointment in his eyes.

She looked towards her friends and saw May grinning at her widely, giving her a knowing wink. She nudged Caitlin who looked over them and grinned at her. She closed her eyes, realizing what they were thinking.

"Clara," Ron said. "Toast?" He was giving her a new one, that wasn't soggy. This time, she gratefully took it and took a bite from the toast, forgetting about the one she had on her plate. She gave him a smile with a mouthful of food.

"Hm-hm. Delicious. Disgusting but delicious."

"You're weird right now," he commented, pulling away from her. "Which isn't yourself."

"You're right," she agreed and finished eating her toast. "If I wasn't acting weird, I would have taken a shower in the afternoon, and I would be sitting over there with my friends and be eating cereal."

"Breakfast is over. Hurry up," Karen shouted and that sent everybody into a flurry of actions, rushing to their regular routine.

Go to their rooms, and get their backpacks. Be downstairs in less than five minutes or else stay behind with the Sister Karen. Everybody walked to school together and when they reached the school, everybody dispersed and went their own way.

Clara successfully had avoided Caitlin in the morning chaos and walked beside May, who chattered the entire way about how Naomi had stolen her brush and refused to admit she lost it. When May had left her to at the steps from the school entrance, she got hounded by an annoyed Caitlin.

The fact that school was the noisiest place had completely slipped off the mind from Clara. The moment she had stepped into the building all she wanted was walk out and run away. Sucking in a deep breath, she took a step inside and headed to her first class. She subtly scratched her temple, feeling like her head was about to explode.

Laughter, feet pounding the stairs, chewing gum, perfume being sprayed, screaming, the swishing noise of skirts, scratching of pencils. That was all she could hear. And amidst of all those explosives noises, Clara heard Caitlin's rough voice.

"... Clara! Clara!"

"Don't say it." Clara took long strides from to avoid being next to her bane of her existence. She felt grateful at the moment for having long legs and Caitlin being short.

"But why not? Come on Clara! You're just being a rude right now. Just say that—"

"No Caitlin," Clara said firmly, stopping in the middle of the school hallway and turning around to face her. "Don't say anything. About Ron or even the weather. I'm not in the mood. I have a pounding headache."

"But I'm your best friend and as your best friend, I have to state that there is something going on with a boy. Especially if the boy is Ron."

"No, there isn't. Nothing is going on." She started walking again with Caitlin hot on her heels.

"Ron is nice, you know. Not attractive but there could be something."

"No. No there can't."

"Why not?" whined Caitlin. "I don't care anymore if it's Ron. He's a boy and could grow on you. This is the first time a guy has found interest in you. You're a catch. A foxy catch. With those brown eyes and silky hair. Tell me why you think that nothing can happen? "

"Jeez, Caitlin, is there something you want to tell me? Do I need to switch rooms?"

"No," she yelped. "I mean, that's what probably Ron see's about you. Are you playing hard to get? Just tell me why nothing can happen? "

Clara sighed and slowed down her speed. She glanced at a hopeful Caitlin and said, "Because I have a lot going on. And I don't have time for something that isn't happening."

"What do you have going on? Church? Praying more? Reading the bibles in different languages?"

"Why do you think my life revolves around church? I actually am—" Clara stopped herself and cleared her throat. "I just have a lot, alright? Drop it."

The bell rang, making her sigh in relief. That had to stop Caitlin from nagging her. "Class. Let's go. We're going to be late! I hate being late."

"Because you don't want to keep Ron waiting," she said slyly.

"I don't like Ron," she repeated firmly. Clara knew she didn't like him but Caitlin was always fantasizing happy endings. Believing that they would get away from the orphanage, get a nice parent, and get married. Clara was an optimistic person but she knew when to realize the ugly truth, unlike Caitlin. But if she was happy with believing Clara liked Ron than she would sacrifice herself. There were more important things to worry about.

* * *

 **October 1955**

The days passed tediously slow and then proceeded to torturous weeks. Instead of things improving as time passed, they seemed to go from bad to worse. Her once patient and kind personality shifted to an irrational and angry one. Anything out of the ordinary made her paranoid, waiting for the worse.

Nothing did happen. But she could hear everything. To even the smallest noise that came from outside, she could hear. It was overwhelming at times, all the noises hitting her at once. One time, it became too much, she skipped class and spend it the entire time, crouched in the bathroom stall floor, covering her ears, trying helplessly to drown out of all the noises.

Clara had come to the conclusion that she had hallucinated the whole thing. That's what happened. She had gone to the library and went on a hunt to search for an answer and found it.

She had hysteria. That was the only logical explanation, besides witchcraft. It was the fifties, not the eighteen hundred. Although hysteria wasn't common anymore in the now modern times, people were still wary of those women who started reacting erratically. And Clara's entire personality since the previous day had been nothing but erratic.

 _Schizophrenia_

 _Borderline Personality Disorder_

 _Conversion Disorder_

 _Anxiety Attacks_

She could have one of those conditions, and she couldn't figure out which one was worse. All of them made her crazy. All of them would lead to her being sent to an asylum. All of them would get her to undergo a lobotomy or electric shock or both.

The voices of Ron and Jonathan could be the voices inside of her head but Ron disproved it in the morning. _Schizophrenia is out._

Her erraticness could be a sign of conversion disorder but her body wasn't experiencing any changes. _Conversion disorder is out._

"That can't be," she muttered in denial at another disorder that she couldn't have. "Nothing. I have none of this. Oh my God! What if I have all of them and I am too far gone to even notice? I'm dead."

She rubbed her temples, not being able to read anymore. It was too much. Exhaling in frustration, she slammed shut the book and put it back in its place. It was after school and she had gone straight to the school library in search for answers and the only thing that she had found was more stress.

"What about... dementia?" she muttered, her eyes skimming the new disease. "Or...?"

That was how she spent the rest of the hour, looking through diseases that are the reason why she was going crazy. The only interruption she got was when Ron and Johnathan were fooling around and bumped into her, making her hit her back against the edge of the shelf. The pain had been unbearable and she had to lay down for a few seconds, to compose herself. She knew that was going to have a huge bruise after a few days.

She had dozed off halfway but woke up with a start when she felt like she was on fire. Like she could feel her clothes getting charred and the pungent smell of skin burning. When she patted herself, she saw that her body was intact, no signs of being engulfed by flames. She exhaled shakily, not liking how slowly she was deteriorating. In the end, when Caitlin had had found her on the floor, sleeping and then proceeded to pick her up by the arm, Clara had about fifty different diseases and disorders, some of them that she had never heard off.

"Hypochondria," she mumbled, half-conscious and the other part far away, still thinking about every disease she could have. "I have some of them..."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Caitlin looked at her strangely.

"Watch it," she slurred, slowly waking up from her tired haze. She waved her hand to Caitlin's direction. "This earth might be hell, our hell and the actual hell is empty, or something like that, but still watch it."

"God, even when you're sleepy, you're preaching about stuff like that."

"You sound like Naomi," Clara grumbled.

"I thought you weren't allowed to read those morbid plays anymore?"

"I have my ways." She looked around the shelves looking for more books that can help but there wasn't a variety to choose from. She already read two of the six books that were available in their limited school library.

"Good Catholic Clara Welsh sinning, what a freaking miracle. You look terrible by the way," Caitlin grinned teasingly. "Like really bad."

"Shut up, _Naomi_."

Caitlin rolled her eyes. "What did you say earlier? Hypo-something? Do you have that?"

"Hypochondria." Clara sighed and got up and started taking the leftover books from the shelves. She was only allowed to take two at the time. "I don't know if I have it. Here take these two."

Caitlin grabbed them and examined them, not understanding their foreign titles. "What is that?"

"Thinking I have all the diseases in the world, but apparently I don't. But I have something I just know it." She marched up to the registration desk and sign out all the books that she got. Caitlin did the same thing and followed her out of the library and into the school hallway.

"What do you have now?"

"I don't know but I am going to find out." She patted the books that she was holding over her chest. Clara started taking longer strides. She turned around and started walking backward, so she could face Caitlin when they talked. "But I'm leaning to hypochondria. Or what's the opposite of having every possible disease and phobia?"

"Maybe all you have is stressed," suggested Caitlin helpfully. "Did you seriously spend an entire two hours in the library, looking for what was wrong with you?"

"Yes. And it was wasted. But hopefully, these books will help."

"Is that all you're going to do? Read?" Caitlin asked. "I thought we could sit outside and talk. We haven't done that in a long time, almost a week actually."

"Can't. I already have plans."

"Let me guess," Caitlin said flatly. "It includes reading or being alone."

Clara gave her a friendly smile. "I'm sorry Cait but maybe later. This is really important."

"That's what you always say," Caitlin said wearily and shoved the other two books in her arms, that was her way of ending the conversation. Clara struggled fitting all the books in her arms, turned around and started walking forward. She wasn't really bothered by Caitlin's cold respond. She didn't like being neglected and would never understand what she was doing. What all Clara was more interested getting home fast so that she could eat and proceed her reading.

* * *

After eating and reading for three and a half hours, Clara decided it was time to call it a day and went to the bathroom to take a shower, and prepare herself for bed. Naomi had decided to join her, being lazy earlier in the afternoon to join the other girls.

Clara stripped down her clothes and glanced at the mirror behind her shoulder to take a good look at her back. She grimaced when she saw a splotchy bruise, the one she got in the library. She sighed in resignation, it looked like she was sleeping to her side that night.

While in the shower, Clara contemplated, taking her time. The water was freezing cold, all of the hot water gone. That's what she got for being one of the lasts ones to take a shower. She could hear Naomi talk, her voice as background noise. The only thing she could focus on was what the books she read and what could be a tree.

That's what she did. When she didn't know something, she would look for the answer until she found it. It made her act different, her friends commenting how she changed and when she got the answer, she would become same old Clara. But she was determined person and giving up had never been an option.

"Colonists believed to cure an individual it was necessary to undergo cathartic medical treatment and to either catalyze crisis or expel crisis from the individual." Under her breath, Clara recited from memory a passage she read over hundred times. "Medical procedures involved submerging patients in an ice bath until they lost consciousness or executing a massive shock to the brain." She took a deep breath and turned off the water. "Thank God this isn't the 18th century."

"This is gross," complained Naomi, oblivious that Clara wasn't paying attention, and got out of the shower and wrapping her body in a towel. "Like, I'm going to throw up gross."

"I agree but at least we have the showers to ourselves," Clara pointed out, and already dressed. She was waiting for Naomi per her request.

"Still gross. I thought with the boys getting their showers fixed, the stalls would be cleaner but it looks like girls are gross too. Really disgusting..."

"And unhygienic," added Clara. "Why is there a sock in the shower?"

"I hate this orphanage," Naomi muttered and then snapped her fingers. She had already changed into her nightgown and was brushing her hair. "I bet it's June's, she's a germaphobe."

"No—ah," Clara screamed as she desperately tried to cling to something but failed. She had started walking to one of the shower stalls to retrieve her soap when she stepped on something slippery and fell back to the hard, cold tile. She groaned in pain when her back had hit the floor.

"Oh my God! Clara! Are you alright?" Naomi ran to her and went on her knees to pick her up. "What happen?"

"What do you think?" groaned Clara, moving around, feeling her lower back seize up in pain. "I fell."

Naomi looked around. "Shit, you feel on a fucking panties. Seriously, what is wrong with these girls? Here, let me help you."

"No—wait," Clara groaned. "I can't feel it."

"Did it hurt that bad?"

"No—I..." she sighed, feeling defeated and tried to clumsily get up, rejecting Naomi's help. She fell back, this time on her butt. She only flinched at the hard sensation and was relieved that she couldn't feel the same aching sensation from before. "I have a bruise on my back. I got in the library when I hit my back. It hurts so much now."

"Ah, shit. What luck you got. Let me help you, you're going to fall again." Clara reluctantly let Naomi help. When she was up on her feet, she blinked when all of the sudden the pain disappeared as it had come. She pushed Naomi away and get up quickly.

"Clara, careful!"

She ignored her and walked around in circles, feeling a similar hysteria take over her, the one she felt when she woke up in the morning or the one when her hand was bare and uninjured. Her breathing was heavy and her mind frazzled, making her feel like she was dying.

"Clara? Are you alright?"

She ignored Naomi's confused protest and went in front of the mirror. She took off her shirt frantically and turn around, trying to see if she had something. And sure enough, there was a faint purple mark in the back of her shoulder.

"It was bigger," she whispered in disbelief. She made a frustrated noise when the reflection of the mirror got blurry because of the steam. She wiped the steam of the window with, trying to keep it clean, and took another look at her back. It was completely gone. "No. No. No!"

"Clara what is wrong?" Naomi demanded, grabbing her by the shoulders. Clara looked at her friend as if just noticing her—as if she hadn't been standing there for the entire time to watch her meltdown.

"I had a bruise," she simply said, as it would explain everything.

"A bruise?" Naomi repeated blankly.

"A big, purple one. In the middle of my back. It hurt so bad that I cried when I move my shoulder."

Naomi hesitantly looked at her bare back. "There isn't anything there."

"Exactly." Clara had jabbed her finger to Naomi's face. "I had a bruise and it's not there! Where is it?"

"Maybe you thought you did," Naomi suggested carefully. "You can't really see over your shoulder."

"So you think I imagined it?" Clara demanded, her voice getting shrill. "That it was all in my head? That everything that is happening to me, it's just because of my nerves?"

"I'm not saying that. You might get a bruise because you fell on the floor. Wait, is that what you meant? That you're going to get a bruise. I think it takes longer for it to appear—"

"No," Clara interrupted her. "I meant I already _had_ one. Don't assume things. Listen to what I am saying."

Naomi looked at her with a mixture of fear and confusion. "It's just that maybe—"

"I'm not crazy," she hissed, stepping towards her and getting to Naomi's personal space.

"But you are acting crazy."

Clara blinked, realizing how close they were. She took a step back and ran her fingers through her hair. "I'm not crazy."

"Then what's wrong with you Clara?" Naomi shook her head. "I wish I could say that I've never seen you act like this but you've been acting very cra—very strange lately."

"You don't understand," she said quietly.

Naomi rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Come on Clara, I'm not Caitlin but I am your friend, and I'm going to be honest. I'm not going to butter things up like Caitlin or be optimistic that there's a pot of gold on the other side of the rainbow like May, I'm just going to be brutally honest."

"I don't care what you have to say. Get the hell out!" She pointed to her door, feeling anger pulsing through her veins.

"No. Not until I tell you that you have been acting like a moping, crazy, and slightly mentally deranged bitch. I don't know why or what caused you to be like that, but you need to cut it the hell out. It's pissing everyone off and no one deserves to deal with your problems."

 _I know, but you will never_ understand _what happened to me._

"Get out!" Clara said, pointing at the door. "Out!" _You're making me angry and I do stupid stuff when I'm angry. And I have a headache for how loud the boys are being downstairs._

"I'm trying to help you, Clara!" Naomi glared at her.

"Help?" she scoffed in frustration. "You're not helping. You're making everything worse, actually. I'm super paranoid right now, and angry, _so_ angry all the time, and all I'm waiting for is for something horrible to happen to me. And you reminding me of what I already know, is making it worse. So stop 'helping me'."

"I don't get you." Naomi looked at her in utter frustration. "I never got you Clara. The sick child that always had to be care of. That made you be apart from the rest of the children, 'special' that's what I overheard the nuns say. _"Have to keep an eye on her, she's special"_. I was still a kid when you came here but I didn't want you near me. You were this little strange child that never shared their problems and always pushed people away, despite everybody praising her for being so _kind,_ so _helpful,_ so _devoted_ to your fucking religion."

"Fuck you, Naomi, you piece of shit," Clara snapped.

She didn't see it coming. The loud noise of Naomi's hand striking her cheek, made Clara snapped out of the anger she felt. But she couldn't stop herself from trembling in rage and clenched her fists, trying to desperately hold on to her sanity. One last glare, Naomi turned on her heel and stormed off the bathroom, leaving Clara alone, just like she wanted.

She slammed her fist against the counter, emitting a pain through her hand but she didn't care. The damage was already done. She walked out of the bathrooms and headed to her room. Naomi was already in bed when Clara reached the room. She wanted to backed out when she saw the disappointed looks from May and Caitlin. She opened her mouth and closed it, trying to defend what she did but stopped herself. There wasn't an excuse to what both of them said.

"She started it," she said lamely and when she didn't get a respond, shrugged. "Goodnight."

Clara fell to her bed, feeling exhausted and ready to go to sleep but what all she wanted to do was pray until a miracle happened. But unfortunately for her, miracles didn't seem to happen. Only disasters and tragedies.

* * *

Out of all of the four roommates, Naomi was always the last one to get up. Clara was always the first one, so they never really crossed each other paths in the mornings. And that worked out of them. Clara had waited impatiently, in her school uniform and a toast in her hand, for Naomi wake up.

"Jesus," Naomi mumbled when the first thing she saw was Clara looming over.

"Don't say His name," she said and stopped when she saw the look of bewilderment. "Sorry... wait, about that but I am sorry."

Naomi squinted at her and realized what she was actually apologizing about. She saw the sincerity in her eyes and then nodded slowly, reluctantly accepting her apology.

" _I-if we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness,"_ Clara recited from memory. "That—that is what I keep telling myself these days but I don't think he would forgive me. I have done too much. Like yesterday, you were right. I was out of line. I knew and I chose to ignore it. _I'm_ the piece of shit, not you."

Naomi sighed heavily and sat up and scooted to the side, to give Clara space for her to sit next to her. "He will. It's you Clara, you're a good person. You out of everybody, knows that he will forgive you. The best person, that's you. You never forget to pray and actually enjoy praying. You always volunteer to help the nuns. You believe in redemption and love and equality."

 _Then why is this happening to me? Good people don't get to be like_ this.

"I'm sorry," Clara repeated.

"It's fine." Naomi waved her off. "You shouldn't be asking for forgiveness, you weren't the one who slapped me. I shouldn't have said those things. It was rude."

"But you meant them. You have no filter in your mouth, you say what pops into your head, I appreciate that. And from the looks of it, you have been keeping that yourself for a really long time. I didn't know you hated me," Clara said quietly. "I thought we were friends."

"We are," Naomi said and sighed, rubbing her face in aggravation. "I meant when we were kids I didn't like you and now that we're older, I know you and you are all those things. Kind, caring, devoted. I was just jealous of all the attention you were receiving but then I realize that it was because you got sick all the time."

"It wasn't because of that," she mumbled incoherently.

Naomi squinted. "What did you say?"

"Nothing."

Naomi grunted. "Come on Clara. We're talking fine and I'm being honest. You should be too."

"I was molested," Clara blurted out, making Naomi looked at her in horror. She cringed at her expression, already knowing what was going through her head. _Pity. Fear._

"I'm so—"

"That's what the nuns were talking about," Clara interrupted, not wanting to hear her empty apologies, "when I was transferred here. Treat me with care. Try not to upset me. She's 'special.' That's what they said, right in front of me, as if I couldn't hear them. I was a little bent, not broken. But they couldn't see that."

"I'm so sorry," whispered Naomi. _There it is, the empty apology._ "Gosh, I'm such an idiot. I always put my foot in my mouth. Here, I hated you for the first year and that happened to you."

"I don't really remember much," Clara lied, picking her nails. "It happened a long time ago."

"Wow." Naomi took a deep breath and sat down next to her. "Wow. I mean wow."

Naomi reached over and touched her shoulder in a comforting manner and Clara gave her a forced smile. She regretted now telling Naomi about herself.

"Can I ask you something?" Clara nodded, seeing that they were being honest now. "Does anybody know about your _molestation_?" she whispered the last word really quietly.

"Besides the nuns, Caitlin knows that I had problems in my previous orphanage but not what exactly what. You're the first person I have ever told about that. I could also say I've told God, but you'll just scoffed at my stupidity at telling a fictional being."

"Why are you telling me then?" Naomi asked skeptically. "For pity? Because—"

"Not for pity," Clara snapped, feeling agitated at how Naomi was being. "But because you were honest with me and I'm going to be the same.

Naomi nodded thoughtfully and spoke up after a few seconds later, her voice curious and cautious. "And... you don't remember anything? You said you don't remember much. So you must remember some at least. I'm not asking you tell me what happened but... how do you move on from something so horrible?"

Clara shifted her body to face her. "Remember that you said that I'm so devoted to religion?" she said in a mocking voice, repeating Naomi's earlier voice.

"I'm sorry," Naomi cringed. "But yes. What about it?"

"Well, let's just say, there's a reason why I am so devoted to religion. I heard that religion makes someone feel better and it turns out it does. I feel whole when I have God with me. Some people don't but I do, and that's all that matter. Like Sister Karen said, there's a silver lining to everything. And for my molestation—" Clara didn't miss Naomi cringing at the word. It made her smile at her immaturity. "—it made me discover religion."

"A silver lining for something bad," Naomi said, wrinkling her nose. "Look at that."

"Yep, a silver lining. And want to know something else? That no one knows. Not even Sister Karen or Rosemary. They know nothing about it." Naomi nodded, looking at Clara curiously and eagerly. "Sister Karen was the one who suggested for me to pray. And want to know something? I _hated_ praying. So, so much, I thought it was boring and pointless. That it wasn't going to make me feel better."

"So that's it? You weren't always that good catholic girl?" Naomi stifled a laugh.

Clara shot her a dirty look. "But despite my hatred towards it, I continued, by Sister Karen's order. In hopes to feel better, more whole and it didn't. But I continued. Even to this day, I still don't feel exactly better. Maybe because I'm still young and don't grasp the whole religion thing."

"Then why be so faithful?" she butted in again. "You're wasting your time by praying for something that you don't even know that exist."

"Because it's the only thing that I have that hasn't changed. It will never change. I'm changing. You're changing. And one day everything will change and you won't be able to do anything. But the religion part, the scripts and everything else, it's not going to change. That's why I'm devoted. It helps me feel stable and all my life nothing has been stable. It makes _me_ stable."

"It makes you unrealistic," she said flatly.

"Maybe it does but I feel good and that's all that I care about. I feel like I'm a better person. That what happen to me when I was a kid, when I was being—" She took a deep breath and gave Naomi a shaky smile. "I didn't deserve it. I was a kid. But now, I am devoted and happy. That's all that matters."

Clara leaned in and hugged her trying to show her, how much she regretted her actions. Maybe if Naomi forgive her, the Lord would forgive her. Naomi hugged her back but let go of her quickly.

"I have to go. I made a mess down the kitchen yesterday and Sister Karen is making me clean up today's breakfast."

"I'll see you later."

"Yeah, later." Naomi had reached the door and her hand was on the handle when she turned around. "Uh, I don't really remember right now, but there is like a verse that Sister Rosemary makes me everytime I say a curse word, which is all the time, and it's about letting others forgive you and you will be able to forgive yourself. And you can move on or something like that."

"Are you sure that's a real?" Clara said doubtfully. "I know every line of the Bible by heart and I don't remember that."

"Maybe, maybe not." Naomi shrugged. "It probably does exist. The thing is, forgive yourself for what you have done and others will forgive you is probably a real thing and I think you should do that. Or else you're to suffer in this Earth and the next life. So... I'm over it, so you should too."

She opened the door and walked of the room, closing the door gently. Despite being ready, Clara stayed in her bed and didn't move, thinking of what Naomi said. She had a point. Nobody but Clara knew about how God loves them and will forgive them for the wrong they have done, if they seek forgiveness. That's what Clara did and hoped that it would atone her wrongs.

"I'm being such a baby," she muttered. "A big, annoying baby who needs to move on. Yeah, that's it, maybe it was all in my head. Maybe I did something bad. But what was it?"

 _But what about the noises?_

"I have really good hearing," she reasoned out loud. "Very, very good hearing."

Satisfied with her conclusions, she heaved herself from the bed and went downstairs. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she was greeted by the severe face of Sister Karen.

"Good morning Sister Karen," she greeted cheerfully.

"Good morning Clara. May I speak to you in private?" Karen requested. Clara tried to keep an impassive face and nodded. She followed the nun to her office. They passed the dining room and Clara's stomach twisted at the delicious aroma that she smelled. She hoped that it wouldn't take long.

"Is there something you need?" Clara said after a few seconds of silence.

"I had a complaint of your behavior," Sister Karen said bluntly, going straight to the point.

"Naomi said she would let it go," Clara said in disbelief, her eyes full of resentment.

"It wasn't Naomi."

"Oh." She felt her cheeks flame up. "Is wasn't? Never mind then," she said hastily.

"Is there something that we—?" Karen started, looking at her suspiciously.

"No," Clara said immediately. "Everything is fine, it was nothing. Who was it? Who complained about my behavior?"

 _I bet it was Ron_ , she thought bitterly. She wanted to defend her actions toward him but refrained herself. It would only make the hole deeper and harder for her to get out.

"I'm afraid I can't tell you."

"Why? Because they asked me not to or because it was an anonymous complaint?"

"I can't tell you that either."

"Then what can you tell me?" she said, feeling grumpy.

"Well, remember that I said about repenting a few days ago? Where you...?"

Clara tried to stop herself from her face showing disdain at what Karen was talking about. She idly played with her hair as she begrudgingly listened to Karen lecture her about how her actions are hurting the people around her and what does it mean for them.

Clara choked slightly and seized up when she felt a burning sensation in her arm. It felt familiar, the feeling like her entire hand was on fire and how it was slowly destroying her skin. She grimaced and pulled the sleeve of her sweater, hoping it wouldn't show. But being fired, it started scorching her flimsy sweater, burning holes.

 _It's real, it's not in my head. Oh God! How do I stop it now?_

Not even the chanting stopped what was happening to her. The arm of the chair, starting heating up and in a second it was burning. Clara yelp and hit the small flame. Immediately, everything went back to normal.

"Clara?" Her sharp voice made Clara looked at her and see Karen was looking at her disapprovingly. "What on earth are you doing?"

"I'm fine," she gasped and shifted around her seat. "Thought I saw a bug. Sorry. Hate bugs. Go on about my—my, ugh—ah, my errors. I apologize for interrupting. Please go on."

The nun narrowed her eyes, finding her stance suspicious. Clara tried to give her a reassuring smile, in hopes that it would redirect her attention from the real problem that was occurring under her school sweater. And it did.

Karen went on about how she had been a great child since she was brought into the orphanage, and that despite the multiple problems they've had with her health, she's been an easy child. Clara forced herself to listen to everything that the nun said, it was the only thing she could do.

"This isn't you Clara. Yelling at people, not praying before supper, don't think I haven't missed it. What's wrong?"

 _To be honest I don't know. But the good thing is now I know for sure it's not in my head._

"Hypochondria," she simply replied. "That's all I got."

Karen looked at her in disappointment and nodded. "Hypochondria? Is that right? And what is that?"

"It's something that you think you have but you don't." But Clara did know that she did have something, a big problem. And all that she needed what caused her _problem_ to trigger. "Can I go now?"

* * *

 **I finally did it. The second chapter of the story. Thank you so much for everything (the faves, follows and reviews). Hope you like it and don't forget to review, they really help know how you feel about the story.**

 **Also, I hope I don't confuse you with so many names, I realized that in last chapter I threw in a lot of names. And, in case you were wondering, this Clara (angsty, moody) isn't going to be around a lot. She's just in a phase, teenage phase.**

 **(The song, in the beginning, is called Blue Moon. It's been covered various times but the one that Clara had in mind was singing by Julie London)**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own X-Men. Only my original plots and OC's.**

* * *

 **Saskia** ** _: Thank you so much for reviewing and the compliment, I feel incredibly flattered. I feel bad for Clara too, but she'll be fine._**

 **Guest: _Well you don't have to wait for more, here's the next chapter. Thanks for reviewing._**


	3. Silver Linning

**The response for this story has been so much than I had expected and I'm so grateful for all of you.**

 **Besides that... Happy reading :)**

* * *

 **Chapter Three: Silver Lining**

* * *

 _ **"Who in the world am I? Ah, that's the great puzzle."  
**_ ― Lewis Carroll

* * *

 _Goddammit, I'm going to rip my cheap, old, second hand socks. And because someone tattled on me like a five year old. Goddammit._

Clara grimaced as she furiously scratched her knees, desperate for a release. She could still feel the stinging sensation from being on her knees for almost an hour. It was her punishment for acting out the last few weeks. Sister Karen had made her pray for a large amount of time that she had shown up to school almost an hour late.

Her face flushed and hair sticking out in odd directions, Clara had walked into the classroom in the middle of History where the teacher was talking about the civil war. All eyes were on her; judging, laughing at her. Clara wasn't fazed by the unnecessary attention as she headed to her seat.

Clara growing up had often stood out, whether it was good or bad. When she was five, she had eaten something that didn't sit well with her and ended up throwing up on a boy. When she was ten, she had won a competition a spelling bee that the school held every year. It had been her third win in a row. And, apparently now, she could do strange things with fire but no one knew about that yet.

But the difference to then and now was that knew what made her different. Right now that all that she needed to know what exactly _was_ what made her different. And she was thankful that it wasn't a disease, _hopefully_.

The school library books didn't help at all. They didn't have the information that she was looking for. The books were all children books. About fairy tales. Talking mice. Runaway princesses. Giants chasing thieving children. Little piglets. None was about burning hands. Or healing magically.

She had discounted bibles because to be fair, they would call her either a miracle or the reincarnation of Lucifer. But if she thought about it on the bright side, her silver lining, Lucifer loved God so much that it was because of that he became a fallen angel. Or so that's what she's been told. Right now she didn't know what to believe.

Clara wanted to look for more information, unfortunately, she had more important priorities; attending school. Although, her mind would only focus on her burning hand and didn't listen to any of her teacher's drone on about school. She twirled her pencil idly as she half listened to her teacher drone about rocks. The classroom was relatively quiet but it didn't ease her headache.

Clara could clearly hear the next door classroom shouting and laughing. Every sound they made, from laughing, gigging, writing on paper, moving their legs; she would hear as if she was in the room. Clara just wanted to throw a chair to the boys next door that wouldn't stop making farting noises with their arms. It was Ron and Jonathan. She couldn't wait to go home and make them pay.

Clara threw a dirty look to the girl that was row next to her, who would keep shaking her leg that would make the desk shake and squeak. She rubbed her temples, trying to ease the pain that was growing. Clara felt someone nudge her foot but she ignore them, wanting to concentrate on her breathing.

"... and then we have that. Now, this one on the right, look at that. Does anybody knows where it comes from?" Ms. Miller, the science teacher, looked around the classroom with a hopeful expression, hoping that one of her students would at least participate in the lesson.

Usually, Clara would take pity on the perky teacher. She reminded her of Sister Rosemary. She was young and full of energy, still believing that she could make a change to the unfortunate children. Clara had overheard few teachers saying that she use to teach at a colored school but had to leave the job because they had threatened her family.

That had earned the admiration of Caitlin, who was half-colored. Clara, on the other hand, had come to admired her when she saw Ms. Miller help a girl who was clearly disabled. Clara also found her optimistic infectious and liking how organized she was.

But today Clara wasn't going to her rescue, she was barely paying attention. She was too busy being self-centered. After a few seconds and no one spoke up, Ms. Miller smile still remained intact and tried again to encourage the class to participate.

"Come on, it's not that hard. It's a very simple question. You already went over it a long time ago. This is just a few new information."

Clara yelped when she felt someone kick her shin harshly.

"Clara do you have something to say?" Ms. Miller called out for her.

"No I don't," she said shortly. When Ms. Miller looked away, Clara turned around and glared at Caitlin, who sat behind her.

"What was that about?" she hissed.

"Why did you come late?" Caitlin demanded in low voice.

Clara stared at her in disbelief and shook her head, not having time for Caitlin's tantrums. She turned around and stared at the blackboard that was in front of the classroom.

"Clara," she heard Caitlin hissed. "Come on."

After a few moments of awkward silence, finally someone took pity on Ms. Miller because Clara heard the teacher make a happy noise.

"Yes, May?"

"Volcano, right?" she answered hesitantly.

"Correct," Ms. Miller beamed. Caitlin and Rosie, another girl from Saint Elena's, clapped for May's correct answer. The said girl, face turned bright red at the attention. "That's enough girls. And of course, you girls probably already knew this but were just shy, weren't you? Anyways, this volcano is from..."

Clara accidentally dropped the pen to the floor and she reluctantly looked up from her desk. She blinked when she saw a picture of something familiar that was in the book Ms. Miller was holding. She leaned back in her seat and chewed in her bottom lip, her brows furrowing.

 _What the hell is wrong with me?  
_

Clara stilled and looked around, hoping that she didn't say it aloud. Whether she said it out loud or not, it seemed that no one was paying attention to her, all of them were looking straight ahead, their expressions full of boredom, finding the lesson tedious.

"What's the name of what comes out of the volcano?" Ms. Miller asked another question.

"Magma," Clara said under her breath.

"It's magma," Ms. Miller answered her own question, not bothering that time for someone to answer. "And did you know that magma can turn into a rock after it cools off? It's called obsidian. It's really strong and..."

The shrill bell rang interrupting the teacher. Without being excused, the girls got up and ran out of the classroom eager for lunch. Ms. Miller walked to the door and kept saying reminders.

"Don't forget to study... Naomi, please turn in your overdue homework, don't turn it in and you'll have summer school. You'll be seeing more of me... and, oh forget it, you'll see tomorrow." Ms. Miller sighed and when Clara passed her, she felt a hand grip her shoulder. Clara stopped and looked up to see Ms. Miller giving her a knowing look. "Clara, can I talk to you?" she requested.

She twisted her mouth, displeased but nodded. She retreated back to the classroom and sat in the closest desk as she waited for all of the students to leave the classroom.

 _Am I in trouble?_ Clara wondered and felt one of her fingers twitch of her right hand. _Don't you dare do it right now. I will chop you right off if you do._

When it was just the teacher and her, Clara rose from her desk and headed towards the teacher's desk. Ms. Miller smiled at her pleasantly, her arms folded in front of the desk. Clara winced at how strong the scent of her teachers perfume was.

"What can I do for you?"

"Clara you are aware that all of the information I was going over is going to be in a quiz that we are having tomorrow? I wasn't just talking to hear my enchanting voice."

"Um... yes," she lied, internally panicking.

"Really?" The severe looking teacher cocked her eyebrow.

"Of course. Isn't that why you teach us? So some of us have a chance for a better life while the rest of us will get mediocre jobs or have nothing to live for?"

"I'm going to ignore that new found attitude and ask you this; then why weren't you paying attention in class?"

Clara, who had been looking at the floor, eyes widened and looked at her teacher in disbelief. "What? I was—I was paying attention. It was about volcanoes."

Ms. Miller sighed and pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "Clara, I know my students. And I know when they are not paying attention. And I know you."

"You don't know me," Clara said quickly, earning a disapproving look from Ms. Miller. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "That was rude."

"It's fine. I do know you well enough that you always participate in class when I'm doing a lesson. And the reason I'm talking to you now is because I had noticed that this isn't the first time you haven't been paying attention."

"What would make you say that?" Clara asked incredulously.

"You don't listen and don't participate and I heard you snap at May a few days ago. Are you alright?" Ms. Miller looked at her in concern. "You always pay attention and nice, and now you are rude at times."

"Uh..." She picked at her skirt. "No I wasn't—don't feel well, that's it."

"Are you sure? You can trust me. I know at times environment in orphanages are the best and with all the children running around, it's understandable for your reckle—"

"No. No, no," Clara interrupted her, her tone harsh and giving her an angry look. She hated it when the teachers would blame whatever problem one of the students from Saint Elena's on the orphanage. "Saint Elena's has nothing to do. It's a good place. Whatever is going on with me, it's all on me."

Ms. Miller looked at her carefully, taking in her strong stance. "Fine then," she conceded. "But you still need to straighten your attitude in class. I don't want that passing around to the other girls."

"It won't, it's not a disease," she said in a defensive tone and then took a deep breath, continuing in a calmer voice. "I promise, I'm working on it."

"I'm getting the feeling this isn't the first time someone has mentioned about your new behavior."

Clara actually cracked a smile and nodded, licking her lips nervously. "Actually, yeah. It's not the first time but this one went much better. Last one I had to pray for a really long time, you can see my knees for evidence."

"Well, from what I know about Saint Elena's, you did probably did something to deserve it. I hear Sister Karen keeps a tight ship around the place."

"You have _no_ idea." Clara wrinkled her nose, remembering the drilling stare she could feel behind her head that Sister Karen gave her in the morning before she let her be excused to go to school. Ms. Miller smiled and looked over to the edge of the desk where the book she was reading to the class was. Clara followed her gaze and sighed.

"Can I... Can I borrow the book, so I can study?" she asked timidly. "I don't want to fail. Being a good student is the only good thing I have in my life."

"You should have paid attention," Ms. Miller scolded.

"I should've, you are completely right, but I didn't feel well. I do like volcanoes," she said distractedly, her hand already inching to the worn out book. "There's something about them that I just like. Maybe at how they can look majestic while at the same time being destructive."

"They are fascinating, aren't they?" agreed Ms. Miller, wearing a fond smile. "I've always wanted to see one. Something about them, just makes me feel warm. Which is ironic."

Clara nodded. "That sounds nice but can I borrow the book? Please?"

Ms. Miller pressed her lips in a thin line, her brows furrowed as she contemplated. But she nodded and slid the book across the desk. "Fine, I'm letting you borrow it because you are my best-behaved student and you're not feeling well. I hope you get a perfect score."

"Of course." Clara nodded and then cringed when she heard a particularly loud shriek of a student from outside the courtyard.

"Clara, are you alright?" Ms. Miller asked, her face ached in motherly concern. Clara was sure that there was a law for a teacher to become too emotionally involved with their students but if there was, Ms. Miller has broken it many years ago. Clara hated that she took a special interest in the children from Saint Elena's, she had the mentality that all children from orphanages were broken.

But in that moment, Clara was grateful for Ms. Miller's overbearing personality. Clara wasn't fine. She had a never ending headache and her body felt like it was burning even though her skin was cold and she was in a horrible mood all the time. She glanced at the window and could see children running around, screaming in joy and having the time of their lives. She would rather jump off the school building than spend time with all that racket.

Clara gave Ms. Miller a tired smile. "I actually haven't been feeling well. Can I go to the infirmary?"

"You're sick? Did you catch something from the orphanage? I heard that Jonathan had something." Ms. Miller looked at her sympathetically, which made Clara feel annoyed.

"No I didn't catch anything from Jonathan. I just have a splitting headache."

"Are you sure?" she said doubtfully, eyeing at her sloppy appearance.

"Yes, I'm sure. Can I go?" Clara asked again.

Ms. Miller still looked unconvinced but agreed. "Of course you may go. You're excused for the rest of the day. Your health goes first. Maybe that's what been causing your behavior to change."

"Maybe... but thank you."

Ms. Miller nodded distractedly, her attention already going to the homework from the students that she collected earlier. "I really do hope that you fix everything that is going on. It would be a shame for you to get off track for that small problem you have."

"How do you know its small?" she muttered.

Ms. Miller looked at her carefully. "Make better choices Clara. That's what gets you out of those situations."

Clara nodded solemnly and took the book. She went to the door and stopped at the door and looked back at Ms. Miller. "Thanks for the book again... and for everything else." She opened the door and closed it.

"There's nothing wrong with you Clara. It's all in your head."

Clara felt like she was slammed against the wall. She slowly looked back at the closed door, feeling a pit grow at the bottom of her stomach, that could only be described as fear. Clara was sure she heard Ms. Miller say it but she had been hearing a lot of things lately, so there wasn't a sure answer. Clara waited for a minute but could only hear Ms. Miller shuffling the paper and her pencil scratching as she wrote.

 _"There's nothing wrong with you Clara. It's all in your head."_ Those words kept looping around her head that it made Clara nauseous. She ran to the nearest trash can and gagged. She gasped for air and wiped her mouth clumsily. She straighten up and glanced at Ms. Miller's door.

"I'm going to an asylum," she decided and walked down the hall, going to the nurse office. She knocked on the door and didn't wait for an answer, already going inside.

"Clara, I was wondering when you would show up," the plump nurse greeted her with a pleasant voice. She wasn't a stranger to Clara, use to her constant visits and would never question her when she showed up. Clara despite her many visits didn't know her real name. She just went as Nurse, it was actually endearing.

"I don't live to disappoint. Besides, how can I stay away from here? It's like my fourth home." Clara for the first time of the day gave her a genuine smile.

"Fourth?" Nurse scoffed, placing a hand on her chest in mock offense.

"There's Saint Elena's and church and unfortunately school and then here, this room." Clara listed off, using her numbers. She held her three fingers high.

"I'm slightly offended that I'm fourth. By the time you spend here, I should be second."

"At least you have a place, I don't consider school any home but it's just an unfortunate place that I spend most of my time in. More than my actual home so, maybe it should have a higher place."

"All righty, I have to ignore my wounded pride because I have to attend you. What can I do for you, my dear? What's got you down this time? Is it a cough? Do you have a fever? Or did you throw up again? Or all of the above?" Nurse gave her a teasing smiled that Clara didn't return.

Clara simply shrugged. "I have a headache which is making it really hard for me to focus. Can I lay down for a while on the couch? Is that alright?"

"Let me take a look." Nurse motioned her to go towards her. Clara was about her height so Nurse had to tilt her head up to inspected her. She grabbed Clara's cheeks and pinched them tightly. "You look pale, my dear."

Clara pried her hands away from her cheeks and gave her a faint smile. "I'm always pale."

"You are, you should go out to the sun. The sun does wonder to the health. Are you under stress?"

Clara gave her a half-shrug.

"Sister Karen did mention you have been under the weather lately."

Clara raised her eyebrows questioningly but didn't say anything.

"Nothing to worry about," Nurse assured her. "Just a nun worried over her children, especially the sick one."

Clara made a face and Nurse laughed. "Not just you, she also told me about Jonathan and that nasty rash he has."

"Oh, well, um, that's not good." Clara cringed at the unnecessary information.

"Well..." Nurse clapped her hands and pushed Clara away from her. "I think a nap would do you some good. Sleep all day if you want, I'll make sure no one bothers you."

Clara nodded numbly as Nurse headed back to her office. Clara sighed, looking around the mundane room, that she was familiar with. She made her way back to the couch—the nurse office didn't have a bed—dropping down onto the corner cushion and curling her feet underneath her. She leaned her elbow on the arm rest and propped her head up with her hand.

The exhaustion washed over her suddenly, as she closed her eyes. She could hear the murmur of voices coming from the cafeteria. Those noises were the last thing she was aware of, the words themselves becoming background noise before she slipped into a troubled sleep.

* * *

Clara was dreaming. She was sure because she had experienced the dream already.

The sky was dull gray, full of clouds that obscured the sunshine. And the floor was muddy, a clear sign that it has been raining. There were tracks of feet all over the floor, a variation of size, from children to adults.

The mud was slippery, making it impossible for Clara to walk without falling on her knees. She was covered in mud and other filthy grime. Her hair was a tangled mess, sticking to her sweaty skin. She looked around the place and realized that it was camp that was surrounded by a barb wired fence with guards guarding the place. It seemed that she was the only one there.

"Hello?" she called out timidly. No one answered to her meek words, the guards didn't even acknowledge her presence.

A blood curling scream that came from inside the building in front of her made her cower, going on the floor as she curled herself in a form of protection. She continued to her the piecing screaming coming from inside and the guards around the place weren't fazed by the awful noise.

"Clara." A feminine voice sang her name from afar, near where the screaming had been coming from. "Clara."

Curious and a little frighten, Clara got up and tripped as she followed the voice that kept repeating her name. She almost reached the voice when she felt a force pull her back.

"No," she screamed when a guard picked her up and handed her to another one.

"Clara, my dear, where are you? Come and join me and the rest. Don't leave." Clara had never heard the voice before but she knew, deep inside of her, that it was her mother. She sounded in despair like it physically hurt her being apart from her daughter. "Clara, don't leave me."

"I don't want to leave you. Where are you?" Clara screeched but she couldn't hear her mother. "Where's my mommy?" she screamed. She kicked at the guards and almost got out of their grasp when a looming shadow covered her and made her stop fighting.

"She's inside. You'll be with her." The voice was rough and it made the hair on her neck stand up but she calmed down immediately at the promise of seeing her mother and let the guard take her into the shed.

She could still hear her mother's voice ringing inside of her head, begging her to be with her and not abandon her. Why would Clara abandon her? It was her mother. The women who gave her life. Clara was disappointment when she didn't see her mother. The room was filled with sleeping children, all laying down on the floor. They were covered in dirt and coal.

"Where are their mommy's?" she asked and glanced at the guard but he was gone. Clara tried to get out but there was no door. There wasn't even a window, the only light came from a small lamp.

Clara curled up, hearing voices coming from outside. They were singing in a foreign language that she somehow understood. She hummed along, listening as the noises became louder and louder. She went on her feet when the voices were almost screaming.

"Mamma?" she called out. The screaming grew and it made her recoil back to her spot. But minutes passed and the screaming slowly eased for it to become bearable. Clara got up and looked around.

"Clara."

"Mamma?" She ran to the wall in front of her and pounded with her small hands. "Mamma?"

She gasped and dropped her hands to her side, feeling exhausted. She turned back to the face the children. Even in their sleep, they looked troubled. Where were their parents? Why weren't they begging for them?

"Get up," she ordered the sleeping children but they didn't move. "Why aren't you getting up?"

The light in the room started dimming and Clara walked up to the oil lamp. She picked it up and stared at. A hand reached out from the floor, making her screech and drop the oil lamp on her feet. Her entire body was on fire and she could feel nothing. Everything she would touch, instead of burning it would explode. The windowless room was becoming red and she could see the children rising.

"Where's my mamma?" she whispered, her voice broken. "I just need my mamma."

They were all coughing, black smoke coming out of their mouths. Clara reached over to touch a boy, that was about six, and when her hand touched his flimsy coat, he stopped coughing and turned to look at her and opened his mouth uttering the most devastating words she'd ever heard.

"Brenne in der Hölle, du dreckige Kreatur."

 _Burn in hell you filthy creature._ And that's exactly what Clara did.

* * *

Her eyes flew open and the first thing she saw was the crack ceiling. She moved her body and groaned when she felt her stiff bones. She slowly sat up and furrowed her brows when she didn't recognize the bare wall in front of her. She shifted her body and leaned back against the couch, taking her a few seconds to orient herself. She blinked slowly, everything flooding back to her.

 _Nurse office. Didn't feel well. Took nap._

But something wasn't right. She stifled yawned, her grogginess slipping away. Clara stiffed when she smelled something odd and sniffed the air, smelling something like melting plastic. She looked around and recoiled when the saw the arm rest of the couch burning.

"This is perfect." She groaned in annoyance, no longer scared at seeing the flame. But she did jump back when the fire sparked up and burned her sleeve. She lost balance and fell to the floor.

Fear went through her veins. She looked at her body and didn't see anything wrong with it. Clara looked over her shoulder and was relieved when she that the nurse room was empty.

The arm chair still had flames, they were small but still there. Clara stared in fascination, the colors bringing life to the bleak room. Not thinking, she reached out and put her hand over the flames. She winced as the flames sting her but kept her hand on them.

The door flew open making Clara jump back. She shoved her hand inside her sweater and scrambled up to sit down in the area that previously had been burning. Nurse came into the room and gave her a wide smile.

"Clara," she greeted cheerfully. "You're awake. Which is fantastic. Just on time."

She blinked, her mind trying to catch up to the present time. "I'm sorry?"

"School ended about ten minutes ago. You can go now." Nurse gestured toward the door. "Out you go. Freedom is right outside this threshold."

"Oh, right." Clara's eyes darted to the lump in her sweater, where her hand was in a fist. She nodded reluctantly and slowly got off the couch. "Great, well, thank you and, well, I'll probably see you soon."

Nurse laughed and without warning grabbed Clara's cheeks, and just like she did before, squeezed them. "Poor dear, always getting sick. Something is clearly not right."

 _Thanks, that really makes me feel better._ But instead, Clara tried to give her smile and gently pried her hands of her cheeks. "I'm sure it's nothing."

"Always the optimistic."

"Well, like I was taught. There's always a silver lining," Clara said and started heading to the door when Nurse stopped her. "Yeah?" She turned around, tapping her foot impatiently.

"One of your friends, can't remember her name... she has the wild curly hair and big teeth. You know who I'm talking about?"

"Hmm... Caitlin?"

"Yes, that one. Caitlin, your friend. Well, she told me to tell you that she is waiting for you outside of the school entrance. "

Clara tried to keep her face void of emotion when all she wanted to do was groan. Having Caitlin around would make everything worse. Clara flashed an appreciative smile to Nurse. "Thank you," she said and left the room before she could be stopped.

Clara headed to the back of the school, where almost nobody took the entrance. Clara checked her hand and somehow didn't feel anything when she saw her hand be intact. She ignored everything and ran as fast as she could to the orphanage.

* * *

Clara locked herself in the bathroom, not wanting someone to walk on her. She headed straight upstairs when she reached the orphanage. Clara was fortunate that it was evening; everybody would be in the dining room eating together and because the weather was pleasant for once, everybody would go directly to the yard, giving her enough time to experiment.

She paced around the bathroom, her shoes squeaking against the wet tiles, mentally preparing herself for the unexpected. She shuddered, despite the bathroom being humid. Unconvinced by the locked door, Clara took extra precaution, she dragged one of the small tables they had and jammed it against the door.

She nodded in satisfaction and positioned herself in front of the mirror that was above the sink. Staring at her reflection, she could see a girl that was pale and tired but her eyes were bright, full of anticipation.

"Clara Welsh, you are not ordinary apparently," Clara coached herself. "But I need you to show me what you aren't because if you don't I will end up in an asylum, going crazy and no one is going to take me out. Do you want that? No, you don't." She heaved a sighed and gripped the white sink. "But maybe we do deserve to go there. I am referring myself in the third person."

She let go of the sink and looked at her pale hands, that were covered in cuts and calloused fingers. She wondered why did she still have these scars and not the other ones. "Strange but I'll figure it out," she muttered and looked back at the mirror. "Come on. Just do it," she ordered herself. "I want to burn!"

But ordering didn't make anything happen, making her incredibly frustrated. She moved away from the mirror and slid down to sit on the wet bathroom floor and rested her head against the wall, trying to figure out what the hell was she doing.

"I need to..." she mumbled, playing idly with her fingers. She tried to remember what had caused her hand to change. In the attic, she had been in pain because of her bleeding gash. With Sister Karen, she was nervous and slightly scared about what she would say to her. In the nurse's room, she had woken up from a distressing nightmare, that made her want to cry. In those situations, she had been under great distress.

"I'm distressed," she said, almost laughing hysterically. "I'm distressed. Maybe depressed. And stressed. Really, really stressed. I can't pray because I feel like I am doing something wrong. My friends hate me for my unbearable personality. Ms. Miller called me out on my personality. Sister Karen is watching me like a hawk, thinking that I am crazy, and maybe I am. Come on, just do it."

Nothing. Her hand remained intact. Smooth, pale from the lack of sun exposure. She closed her eyes, and realized that these past few days, with her anger and moping, she had wasted them in something probably wasn't even real.

"Fine then. If nothing happens then great. Fewer problems for me. I need to—ah, no shit. Why?!"

She whimpered at the sudden pain that erupted through her body. She felt on fire but then a cold wave went through her, making her loosen up. A small smile of disbelief crossed her lips when she looked down.

Her hand wasn't on fire but it was oddly burning. It looked like it was breathing. It was a mixture of colors, red and orange, reminding her of lava. She could feel her skin tighten as the heat grew bigger. Clara hesitantly reached to grab it and the moment she touched it, and as expected, her skin felt on fire. She pulled her hand away quickly and saw that her fingertips burned, the skin charred. She looked at her other hand and saw that it had changed. It was harder looking.

She refused to look away, staring at it intently. She forgot about her lava hand and only focused on what was going to happen. But the lava hand started changing and it became hotter. The towel that was next to her, burst into flames, making her flinch.

Inside her head, alarms started ringing, saying she should extinguish the flame before it got out of hand. She quickly went into one of the showers, with all her clothes on and turned on the faucet.

When the water hit her, steamed went all over the shower. Her entire body got drenched, and she could feel her hand become stiff and then loosen. She turned off the water and looked off her hand. The skin was charred and slowly going back to its normal state. She moved and because she was still wearing her shoes, she fell on her butt.

"Ah," she screamed and kicked the wall in aggravation. She looked back at her hand and somehow was angry that it looked normal. It wasn't burned anymore. She tried to concentrate and the second time (or fourth) she could feel the pulsing inside of her but her hand was still the same. She prodded it and felt nothing change.

"Why aren't you burning? Why... Dummy," she whispered, smacking her forehead. "Water and fire don't mix. I need to dry off..."

She carefully got up from the floor and clumsily started wringing the water out of her clothes. Clara traced her fingers over her knees, that were clean, no signs of redness. Another good thing that had come out of her experiment. Despite her angry outburst, Clara was satisfied with what happened. She wasn't sure she was completely human and she was befuddled how she didn't mind at all but at the same time felt some fear of not being like the rest.

The irony of the whole thing, where all her life, Clara wanted to be special, unique when all the time she was surrounded by children who were misfortune as her. And when she finally was granted her wish, Clara wanted to be like everybody else.

When she was satisfied at how dry she was, Clara stepped out of the shower and left the bathroom. The hall was packed with a few girls, who gave her strange looks as she headed to her room.

"Looks like she finally cracked," one of the girls, Josie whispered to her friends. They all giggled and nodded in agreement. For Clara, it sounded like she was shouting in her ear.

Despite the best option being was to pretend that she didn't hear anything and continue walking, Clara stopped in front of them. They looked startled and watched her wearily.

"What do you want?" Josie sneered, her thin lips curled up in a mean smile.

"You know..." Clara chuckled and wagged her finger at the girl's face, "At least I'm not the one whose defiling in the confession with an eighteen-year-old. But hey, better crazy than a whore."

Josie's eyes widened in horror and gaped at her. Clara didn't bother to see the other girls reactions and walked away, going to her room. Clara slammed the door shut and made a frustrated scream, hitting the door.

"Clara! Oh my God! Where the—w-what do you look like that?"

She frowned and turned around to see Caitlin, sitting on her bed and staring at her in bewilderment. Clara hadn't realized that she wasn't alone. She should have heard Caitlin, she was a heavy breather.

"Did I tell you what Sister Rosemary told me earlier in the morning?" Clara said to her, trying to discard her wet clothes off as she went to her bed.

"No, you haven't because the entire day you have been avoiding me but I don't care about that right now. All I want to know is why are you wet?" Caitlin frowned.

"I took a shower."

"With all of your clothes?" Clara didn't like the look of concern that Caitlin had. She looked at her like a parent would look at a kid running with scissors.

"Is there a problem with that?" She crossed her arms over her chest and raised her eyebrows.

Caitlin blinked, taken aback by her defensive reaction. She cleared her throat and shifted nervously. "Well, it's ideal to take a shower without clothes and you are practical, so..."

"Well, it's also ideal for someone to express themselves without having them complain about them," Clara snapped and turned her back to Caitlin. She angrily kicked off her shoes and started peeling off her socks that were sticking to her skin.

"What? What are you talking about?" Caitlin laughed nervously. Clara grabbed a pair of clothes from her dresser and changed quickly.

"Someone complained about my behavior. Finding it unpleasant and making them feel unsafe." Clara scoffed, running her fingers through her tangled, wet hair. She walked to Caitlin's bed and sat down at the foot of it.

"Was that it?"

"No, of course not," Clara said in a tone that should have been obvious. "Also, that I need to rethink of my actions and that I should pray this verse. If only praying helped, I would know, I've read the entire freaking bible the past few weeks and nothing. I still need to 'improve yourself and only will be able to when you think of the Lord's word.' She said more but I was praying for her to stop talking."

"Really? That's bad," Caitlin said. There was an edge in her voice, that caught Clara's attention. She closed her eyes at the sound of a heartbeat that she shouldn't be hearing.

"That's not even the worse part. I had to go on my knees and pray for almost an hour. She made me miss breakfast and the first hour of school. My knees were bright red when I was done. I had to go through all of that because someone had to be a five-year-old and complain about my behavior." And Clara wasn't even going to talk about what happened with Ms. Miller, or else she would become more frustrated.

"Who would do that?"

 _That's not right..._ Clara tilted her head as the thudding noise grew bigger and faster as each second passed. Clara frowned, bemused. She had grown familiar with heart beats and they normally had a set rhythm. The only time it would change was when someone was moving a lot or they were not telling the truth.

"Oh my—Damn it. Why can't I catch a stupid break? I've tried to pray, just like Sister Karen said and then forgive—ugh!" Clara struggled to take off her wet clothes that were stuck in her skin but finally managed to take off her shirt. She slumped down the floor and buried her face in her hands. "Who would do that?"

"I don't know."

Clara heard another loud heart skip. "She wouldn't tell me but I think I know who it is," Clara said.

Another one. "Who?"

"Ron," Clara said grimly and she could hear Caitlin exhaled.

"Wow, are you sure?"

 _Thump. Skip. Thump. Skip. Something's wrong._

"It has to be him," Clara reasoned. "I was having a bad day yesterday and he showed up and I was aggressive. He must have taken it the wrong way. That's the only logical explanation. I can't believe it. I thought he was my friend. And he does that?"

Clara looked at Caitlin carefully and listened to her heartbeat. It was palpitating fast, and it wasn't the only thing. Clara could swear she could her blood pressure skyrocket. And what she had been experiencing, she was most definitely, hearing the vibration of blood coursing through her veins.

 _Please be the schizophrenia._

"But I know I'm not schizophrenic," Clara said under her breath.

"What was that?"

"Say it again," Clara said instead. "Repeat what you said. About Ron being a jerk. Say it to my face." _I want to know if you are lying._

"Ron's a jerk?"

Clara stared at Caitlin, who was fidgeting and avoiding her gaze. She didn't stop staring her and then Caitlin blurted out, "Fine, it wasn't Ron. It was me." She gasped in shock and her hands flew to her mouth. "I'm sorry. I-I really am."

Deep inside, Clara already know it was her but that didn't stop her from feeling shocked by her confession. "Why would you do that?"

Caitlin stumbled on her words to justify her betrayal. "You've been acting strange and I got worried and I thought it was best to have someone to do something about you."

"No, you didn't have to do that."

"I was worried. I'm your best friend," she argued.

"Exactly," Clara snapped and in a calmer voice added, "You're my best friend, why would you throw me to the wolves? Now, everybody thinks I'm crazy. You know were crazy people, especially women end up? In asylums with lobotomies. I'm not even thirteen yet!"

"Y-you were scaring me," Caitlin argued. "And Naomi and May and a lot of other people. I had no clue that you were doing and then I found out you got into a fight with Naomi, which is what made me realize that something was wrong. I had to help you. You weren't helping yourself."

"You don't know that," Clara interrupted her. "Like you said, you didn't know what was going on. And then we worked our problems out. We both apologized to each other. We talked, just like how you should have done it. Say it to my face instead of going to get Sister Karen and complain about my behavior."

"I got desperate and had to find a way to help," Caitlin repeated.

"I have the right to get angry. To be frustrated. To be distant. To be want to yell and scream and kick. Why don't you understand that?"

"I know you do. But this isn't normal. You're always calm and not aggressive. But the last days, if anybody says anything to you and you lose it."

She wanted to argue. To say that she was wrong. That she had been acting normal. That Caitlin was overreacting. But Caitlin was right but Clara wanted to be right too.

"I am not crazy—I am just—I'm just—" Clara trailed off, unable to find words to describe herself. "I'm just having a phase, alright?" she said finally. "Caitlin we've been friends since I got here. You should give me at least some credit and trust me when I say that I'm fine."

Caitlin stared at her and then nodded slowly. Clara relaxed her shoulder and smiled at her, appreciating her.

"Are—are you sure?" Caitlin asked tentatively. "I mean, I trust you but still..."

"Of course. Come on Caitlin. It's me we're talking about." She scoffed and pulled the roots of her hair. "I'm Clara Welsh, there's always something wrong with me. I'll be fine, I'm always fine," she said the last few words more to herself.

"Do you want a hug?" Caitlin offered.

"No, don't touch me." Clara shook her head. Because if Caitlin hugged her, she would burst into tears, the ones where her shoulder would shake as she took uncontrollable sobs and her nose would become runny. And Caitlin would hug her so tightly it would feel like her lungs were getting crushed as Clara's face would be buried in her friend's shoulder, Caitlin's curly hair poking her eyes.

"Well, it's okay. I'm here," Caitlin said to Clara. "I understand."

 _No, you won't,_ Clara thought bitterly. She didn't understand and probably never would. Maybe Clara was taking the whole thing out of proportion, but deep down she knew that she was probably not even seeing the graveness of the situation.

"I'm here for you," Caitlin continued in a reassuring manner, giving her a wide smile that showed her overbite. "Remember what Sister Rosemary says; there's always a silver lining."

"Silver lining," Clara repeated. "My silver lining is somewhere in between all this chaos."

"There's a silver lining in your phase. It's really windy outside, so let's just sit down and just sit." She guided Clara to her bed and both girls sat down in the tiny bed, side by side. Caitlin rested her head on Clara's shoulder, giving her the comfort that she could.

 _It's going to be okay. Just ignore everything. And focus on the bright side, the silver lining. I might not be normal but I'm different._

"I'm going to take a shower," Caitlin said.

Clara hummed in acknowledgment and continued playing with the edges of the blanket from her bed.

"May and Naomi are downstairs in case you need anything."

"I won't need them. I'm appeased right now. See?" She gave her a faux smile.

Caitlin looked unconvinced but didn't argue with her. "Fine. See you later." She walked out of the room and shut the door gently behind her.

Clara dropped her smile, rubbing her cheeks, still sore from the pinches she has earned from Nurse, and buried her face in her drawn-up legs. She hummed the same tune that she heard in her dream, and despite the dream morbid, the tune relaxed. It had something familiar about, and whenever she heard of it, she would think of her mother. Perhaps when she was a baby, her mother would sing it to her as a lullaby when she wouldn't go to sleep.

Clara getting a cramp on one of her legs, withdrew her legs and moved around. She heard a thumping noise when she pulled her covers. She glanced at the floor and saw that a book had fallen from the bed. She frowned and bend down to pick it up. Dusting off the dirt of the front cover, Clara remembered it was the one she borrowed from the teacher.

She furrowed her brows as she saw the front cover picture. It was of lava, burning red, with some flames in the background. It had a combination of colors, black, orange and red. Something of the picture kept bothering Clara. It was eerily familiar. Like she had seen it before.

But Clara was being silly. Of course, she had seen that image before. Ms. Miller had shown the picture in school. And she also saw it in the bathroom when—

"Holy shit," Clara said, throwing the book front of her as if it was actual lava, her mouth dropping open and her eyes widening in realization. "My hand."

* * *

 **And the story continues. This chapter, explained more of Clara's mutation, which shows that it's not fire, something else.**

 **Like I said before, thank you for everything (the reviews, follows and favorites), it really keeps me going. Although my birthday was two days ago, it would still be great to get reviews as a late birthday present.  
**

 **Any errors, I will look over and fix them.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own anything from the X-Men franchise or the comics. I only own my OC's and any original ideas.**

* * *

 **Saskia: _I'm so glad you liked this chapter and want to read more. And it makes me feel warm that you sympathize with Clara, she is going through a lot (but don't worry about her friends). I smiled too at Clara's awkwardness with Karen._**

 **Guest:** _ **Unfortunately, Erik and Charles won't appear until later, more than a few chapters actually, but a well known character will appear soon.**_


	4. Not Knowing

**Sorry, it took a while but it was harder to write this chapter than I thought. Especially, since this chapter has me so excited because finally a canon character appears. I hope you like how I incorporated them.**

 **Anyways, hope you enjoy this chapter :)**

* * *

 **Chapter Four: Not Knowing**

* * *

 ** _"If you want to keep a secret, you must also hide it from yourself."_**  
― George Orwell

* * *

 _"Igneous rocks are formed when magma (molten rock deep within the earth) cools and hardens. Sometimes the magma cools inside the earth, and other times it erupts onto the surface from volcanoes (in this case, it is called lava). When lava cools very quickly, no crystals form and the rock looks shiny and glass like. Sometimes gas bubbles are trapped in the rock during the cooling process, leaving tiny holes and spaces in the rock."_

Clara closed her eyes, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over her. It was about three in the morning and here she was, on the floor, near the window, studying for an important test that she had to pass to prove a point. It didn't make it better that she was taking it the next day. But to her frustration everything she read, went right through her head, frustrating her. She really should have paid attention in school.

"Igneous are rocks that are formed when magma... hardens which, which something... Oh, I'm going to fail... again..." she said under her breath, squinting through the darkness, trying to understand the paragraph she had spent the last twenty minutes reading.

She had tried to use her _problem_ in the beginning but she stopped because the fire would die out after a few seconds and then changed into it's weird form, distracting her. Also, she didn't want to risk one of her roommates waking up and seeing her on fire. She could see the whole scene unfold horrendously.

She froze when she heard a groaning noise and peeked up from her spot and relaxed when she saw it was just May restlessly moving around in her bed. She glanced at the window, seeing that it was still dark outside and decided to call it a for the night. With pleasure, she pushed the book aside and resting her head against the wall.

She ran her fingers through her hair and rubbed it between her two fingers. Even with the moonlight being her only source of light, she saw that there was a brown streak. She peered closely and realized that her hair looked more brown than black. She groaned and moved her body to laid down on the floor, covering her face. What was happening to her?

Before she used to get sick a lot, had black hair and wouldn't randomly get on fire. If this was puberty, she hated it. No one seemed to be going through what she was. She had contemplated telling her friends but something kept stopping her from telling them.

She wasn't sure when she fell asleep but the next thing she remembered is having something hit her in the face, forcing her to open her eyes and groaned in pain when she realized in what uncomfortable position she had fallen asleep.

"Come on Clara," May yelled at her, throwing another pillow to her.

"I'm going." She slowly sat up from the floor and groaning when she felt how stiff her bones were for falling asleep on the hard floor. She rubbed her eyes and saw that Naomi was still sleeping, the cover over her.

"What about Naomi? She's still sleeping" she grumbled, walking around the room trying to get ready. "Throw her pillows. Stop playing favoritism."

"She's not coming to school today," May explained impatiently.

"Why? Did she get in trouble again from school?"

"I don't know. She said last night that she has to talk to the Sisters about something. Probably to talk about how she got in trouble again for kicking someone in school again."

"Oh, well, I'm ready." Clara had changed quickly into her school uniform and ready to go downstairs and eat. She paused and tilted her head to the side when she could hear Caitlin giggles from the dining room. "Is Caitlin downstairs?"

"Yes. Now let's go. We're going to miss breakfast and I'm not missing pancakes."

* * *

Like every morning, there was a chaos walking from Saint Elena's to school. Clara, despite wanting to have a few minutes of rest even if she was walking, had spent the entire walk, reading through the science once more, with Caitlin holding on to her shirt sleeve, afraid that she would crash into someone or a car.

Clara was proud to say by the time the reached the school, every single page she had memorized and the more she read it, she had become more convinced that she was somehow part volcano.

Maybe it was because how sleep deprived, but as crazy it sounded, the more she thought about it, the more it made sense, despite everything. She couldn't explain it but she was sure of her conclusion.

Even though she had only slept for two hours that night, she felt relaxed and calm, the most she'd felt since months. She didn't have everything figured out but having some insight did wonders to her sanity.

The lack of sleep and possibility of being run over had been had been worth it in the end. Clara was thrilled that she had passed the test, getting none of the questions incorrect. She had a hard time hiding her victorious smile when Ms. Miller handed her test back at the end of the class.

Clara had stayed in her seat when the class had ended, wanting to talk to Ms. Miller. She drummed her fingers impatiently on the worn out book, as the students slowly left the classroom.

"What can I do for you?" Ms. Miller asked when she saw that she was still in her seat.

"Can I keep the book for a few more days?"

"Why?" Ms. Miller questioned, looking at her curiously. "You already passed the test, which I want to applaud you for. I'm really impressed that you got all the questions correct. I always knew you were capable of doing great."

"Uh, thank you but I found the book interesting and would really like to read it more carefully," she said hastily.

Ms. Miller had looked at her and Clara felt like she could see right through her. She then stood up from her desk and walked towards her small shelf that held all her books.

"Here, you might enjoy these," she said and handed her two thick volumes that Clara grabbed and tucked them to her side. "They're more detailed and have more images."

"Thank you," Clara said, grateful. "I just stayed to ask you about that, so I'm going to go."

"Clara, hold on, before you go, I want to talk to you." Clara hesitated, glancing at the clock. If she stayed any longer, she was going o be late to her next class. Ms. Miller followed her gaze and gave her a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, you can tell your next teacher that you were with me. Now sit."

Not having a choice, Clara took a seat in the desk closest to the teachers. "So what is that you want to tell me?"

"First of all, I really appreciate that you listened to me. I know that I was being hard but I meant well. But that doesn't mean I don't understand you. Actually, when I was younger, I went through a hard time, similar to you."

"Really?" Clara asked skeptically. She knew for sure Ms. Miller was not going through the same as she was.

"I did, at least something similar but then I figured out." Clara against her better judgment, leaned in, intrigued. Ms. Miller went to sit on top of her desk. "It was difficult but it worked out. And want know why it worked out?"

"Um, yes?" Clara said uncertainly.

"I did it on my own. Kept it a secret." Ms. Miller pressed one of her fingers over her lips. "It's better to keep things to yourself than to let another know."

"Won't getting help make it better? For the moral support?"

"No. It won't, others will make it worse. It's better to not know than to actually know. I know, because I wanted to make things better but then they got complicated."

"What exactly happened to you?" Clara asked. "If you don't mind telling me."

Ms. Miller shrugged, her fingers tracing lightly the hard wood of her desk. "I was alive during a war and that was difficult with my brother and father being drafted. I guess it was puberty with my teenage confusion and so much more stuff."

Clara stared at her in bewilderment and suddenly felt like they were talking about something completely different. Clara forced herself to smile and ignore her paranoia.

Ms. Miller snapped her fingers which made Clara flinched. "You know the perfect example of what I'm talking about, would be Schrodinger's cat."

"What's Schrodinger? A type of cat?"

"Schrodinger's cat is actually a semi-recent experiment that it trying to prove about paradox."

"What is it about?" Clara asked eagerly.

Ms. Miller smiled but then faltered. She glanced at the door and back at her. "I supposed to I can tell you. The school doesn't think it's a great idea to talk about science to the girls, finding it unnecessary but I believe girls should also be educated."

Clara nodded in understanding, not surprised that Ms. Miller knew about those things. She was so well educated, having an extensive knowledge that made Clara envious. She wanted to be like that when she was older but in order to reach Ms. Miller education she needed money and Clara could barely afford a new sweater.

"I'm really good at keeping secrets," Clara offered, smiling ruefully. Ms. Miller nodded thoughtfully, drumming her fingers against the desk.

"It would be rude to not to tell you. Well, then, to make this simple, in 1935," Ms. Miller started. "A physicist, Erwin Schrodinger, in an attempt to explain the Copenhagen interpretation of quantum physics, he proposed an experiment where a cat is placed in a box with a sealed vial of poison that will break open at a random time. Now, since no one knows when or if the poison has been released, until the box is opened, the cat can be thought of as both alive and dead."

Ms. Miller paused and looked at Clara, who was trying to process what she heard. The entire time the teacher spoke, she mouthed the words she didn't understand and made a mental note to go to the library and look them up. She understood the simple words and what she was trying to say but some words were foreign to her.

"You look lost, is there something you didn't get?"

"What's a physicist?" Clara asked and cringed at how lost she sounded. But Ms. Miller used to having students ask her dumb questions, she explained patiently.

"It's just a scientist who studies science."

Clara nodded, her brows still furrowed. "What does the cat have to with not knowing?"

"What the experiment is trying to explain is that you can always have both with not knowing. But the moment you open the box, you'll know and that changes things, for better or for worse."

"Why couldn't you just say that?" Clara grumbled.

"I'm a teacher, I like to always add some science to my discussion. Besides, I thought you might enjoy that little anecdote."

"I guess that's where curiosity killed the cat came from," she muttered.

Ms. Miller laughed loudly, startling Clara who didn't expect her to react that way. "Don't worry sweetie," she said and patted her arm. She glanced at the clock in front of her. "Why don't you go? You're going to be late to your next class."

"Right. Um, thank you," she said and hurried towards the door. "I'll take your advice into consideration."

"Oh, sweetie, if I were you, I would listen to it. The world is a cruel place. It's survival of the fittest." Ms. Miller smiled grimly and with another smile to her, went back to her desk.

Clara stared at her in confusion but the teacher kept her smile and motioned her to move. Reluctantly, she moved her legs and exit the classroom.

"What was that about?" Clara said under her breath when she was out of the classroom. Ms. Miller had always been eccentric but in that interaction, she was borderline insane, something Clara had become familiar with.

Hastily, she shoved her books in her bag and hurried off to her next class, physical education, more than eager to be outside and breathe fresh air.

* * *

After school had ended, back in the orphanage, Clara had decided to stay in her room after they had dinner, not wanting to get sick. She also wanted to start reading the books Ms. Miller had lent her.

Caitlin and May hadn't objected; they were too busy bickering over the newest hairstyles. Since Naomi still hadn't joined them, leaving May to start arguing with Caitlin, which in honesty, Clara didn't mind. It took their attention from her.

Crossed leg in her bed, she ran her fingers over the worn cover of the book. Placing it on her lap, she opened it and started reading since the beginning. She stopped halfway when she realized that there were a lot of words that she didn't understand. She pushed the book aside and decided to something more interesting.

Curious and slightly anxious, she grabbed a pair of scissors from her backpack. Getting comfortable in her bed, she extended one of her hands and cautiously hovered one of the sharp blades of the scissor on the spot she chose. Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, without hesitation, she plunged the scissors on her palm. It pierced right through her skin making her wince at the pain.

She took long breaths to relax before she pulled out the scissors and saw them covered in her blood and reached over her bed, to grab a tissue and wipe the blood off them. She carelessly threw them to the side when she was done.

Clara turned her attention to her wounded hand, where blood was dripping. Only two seconds had passed when it happened. It was like a reverse process. Her skin was closing off, stitching itself without leaving any traces. The only evidence that was left was her blood.

Clara couldn't help but smile giddily. She ran her fingers over her hand, amazed how smooth it was. Picking up the scissors, she continued stabbing herself to watch herself heal over and over again, the process never getting tiring. She was unable to contain her excitement in the fifth try. Clara had been too caught up with what she had doing, that she had ignored the loud footsteps that were heading to her room.

"Clara!" Caitlin burst into the room, yelling her name, making her jump at her unexpected appearance and scrambled to hide her bloody scissors.

"Caitlin, don't do that," she snapped and then frowned when she saw how devastated her friend looked. "What's wrong?"

"Naomi is leaving," she wailed, her high voice hurting Clara's ears. "She's leaving. We just found out."

"What?" Clara said again, more faintly that time. Seconds later, May burst in and without warning, started sobbing. She cautiously got up and went to Caitlin, patting her back awkwardly, her sobbing ringing in her ears and scratched her cheek nervously, feeling trapped.

* * *

It had taken a few hours to calm down both May and Caitlin. Clara tried to keep herself unemotional and was successful but it drained her in the end when both of her friends fell asleep in the same bed.

The entire time Clara had dealt with the two girls, Naomi had been nowhere in sight, which really concerned her. It was already late, nearly ten o'clock, meaning everybody was already in their rooms. Had Naomi left already without saying goodbye?

Making sure not to wake her roommates, Clara ventured downstairs and peeked into the living and saw no one. She saw the light in the kitchen and hoped to find Naomi, who hadn't shown her face since the morning. She was probably off mourning or doing whatever Naomi did whenever she was upset.

Clara gasped when she saw that it was Sister Karen fixing herself a cup of tea.

"I'm sorry Sister Karen for being up, it's just that—" she rambled bit got cut off by her.

"If you are looking for Naomi, she just left to go upstairs."

"Really? That's great. We were getting worried. We didn't know where she was since we found that she is leaving and..." she trailed off, feeling awkward.

"I understand," Karen nodded, understanding. "Today was a very difficult day but let's thank the Lord for giving us the strength to move forward."

"No. Let's not thank Him. Naomi's leaving. Why is she leaving?" Clara blurted out. "I know that sometimes some of us leave but why Naomi? Is it because of how many times she's gotten in trouble?"

Karen shook her head, giving her a rueful smile. "I'm afraid I can't tell you. It's between me, Sister Rosemary and Naomi. I'm sorry Clara but it was a difficult choice."

Clara nodded, fiddling with the ends of her night shirt. "It's so strange," she mused.

"What is?"

"May and Naomi are always fighting and now Naomi is leaving and she's devastated. But I always knew that they were close despite their fighting. She's her best friend. You can't be without your best friend."

Clara couldn't imagine her life without Caitlin and if she was gone, then she would have no one. Even thinking about it, made Clara's chest hurt painfully. That was one thing she hated about being an orphan, there was no stability.

"How do you feel Clara?" Karen asked.

She shrugged. "Tired but not sick. I just feel tired. Comforting two crying girls at the same time drains you."

Karen pursed her lips, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "I just realized that you haven't gotten sick lately."

"What?" Clara frowned.

"It's been almost a month since the last time you had something seriously wrong that wasn't a headache."

Clara thought about it and realized that Karen was correct. She hadn't been sick for a while. Her eyes widened at the realization. "No I haven't," she breathed happily and stopped. She kinda was sick but not the obvious kind.

"I'm so thankful God has answered my prayers."

"You've prayed for me?" Clara looked at her curiously.

"Of course. I pray for all my children. I worry about you, even when you don't think I do."

Clara flushed, not sure what to say and hoping her expression showed her appreciation.

"Go to sleep Clara," Karen ordered gently. "Tomorrow is going to be a difficult day."

She nodded and bidding goodnight, trudged to her room. As she climbed the stairs, she could hear May's hysterical crying and Caitlin trying to soothe her. Clara sighed, rubbing her temples, finding the noise overwhelming. When was that nightmare going to end?

* * *

The next morning, when everybody seemed to calm down, Naomi had calmly explained to the three girls that the previous day, the reason she had missed school was because Sister Karen and Rosemary wanted to talk to her about her leaving the orphanage.

Clara felt a void inside of her and half-listened to her explain to them what was going. She couldn't believe what was happening. Naomi leaving was a worse blow than when she started burning.

"Clara," Naomi called her name.

"Oh, yeah? What is it?" she said, giving her a small smile.

"We're going outside, come on." She tugged on her sleeve, forcing her to get up from the bed.

Sister Karen had been kind enough, to let the three girls miss school that day to allow them to spend time with Naomi, who would be leaving that day. The entire day, they were outside, taking turns on the swing set.

Six hours later, and Caitlin and Clara were in their room, putting on coats because it had gotten cool outside.

"You know what it means with May leaving?" Caitlin said glumly.

"Um, we have one less room?" Clara guessed, sitting down on her bed as she buttoned up her coat.

"Well, yeah but that means someone knew is coming. Gosh, I hope it's a boy and not a girl. If its a girl she's going to be staying in our room."

"That would be a bummer but if it were a girl we could make one of the other girls move into our room," Clara suggested. "Maybe—"

She didn't get to finish her sentence when she felt something hard hit the back of her neck. She flinched at how hard it felt. "What the heck?" she complained, looking up.

"Don't be so rude Clara," Caitlin growled. "Don't you dare suggest that to May, or else she'll burst into tears."

"And what makes that a difference from now? Sorry, sorry, sorry. Don't throw anything to me again!"

Caitlin exhaled loudly, running her fingers through her wild hair. "Come on let's go." Caitlin jerked her head towards the front door.

"Right, let's go watch May cry as Naomi leaves us forever," Clara said. Already, she could hear a noise in front of the house and winced when she heard May's loud sobbing. She moved away quickly to avoid being hit by another flying object thrown by an enrage Caitlin.

Downstairs, everybody was bidding goodbye to Naomi, whose face was void of emotion. Right next to her was Sister Rosemary and May, both of them looked like an emotional wreck. Clare and Caitlin approached the three of them, and the moment Naomi saw them her facade fell, and Clara could see the pain in her eyes.

The four girls engulfed each other in a hug. They didn't separate until Sister Karen walked up to them and tapped Naomi's shoulder.

"Naomi," Karen spoke softly to the girl. "The car is here. It's time to go."

Reluctantly, they let go of each other and the girls turned to Naomi, each giving her an individual hug. who nodded and followed Sister Karen. Everyone watched the car drive off, getting smaller as it got farther from Saint Elena's. May let out another heartbroken sob when the car disappeared from their view.

"I'm sorry," Clara whispered to her when it was her turn.

"It's fine. I'm going to miss you," Naomi said and let her go.

"Me too," she said sadly, feeling the pit in her stomach grow, and went side Caitlin.

After hugging Caitlin, Naomi followed Sister Karen to the car. Everyone watched as Karen and Rosemary hug her tightly. It was difficult for them to watch the car drive off, getting smaller as it got farther from Saint Elena's.

May let out another heartbroken sob when the car disappeared from their view. Clara was about to reach out to May when she stopped. She grimaced when she felt a familiar burning sensation on her hand. Her eyes widened when she saw her skin get ashen and could feel the warmth radiating from it.

Quickly, she shoved her hand into her pocket—not being the best idea but the only one she had in the moment—and prayed for it to get back to normal.

She tried to back away from everyone but she got caught by Sister Karen, who eyes her suspiciously.

"What's wrong Clara?"

Her head snapped to look at her. "What? N-nothing's wrong," she stuttered nervously. Karen's eyes darted to the bulge in her pocket where Clara's hand was shoved.

"What's in your pocket?"

"Nothing."

Her quick answer made Karen even more suspicious. "Pull your hand out," she ordered.

"Why? I'm cold." She shivered in exaggeration to prove her point.

"I want to see your hand. Take it out now Clara."

"But―" she tried to argue but got cut off by Karen's harsh warning.

"Clara, don't make me ask you again."

Hesitantly, Clara slowly took out her hand from her pocket, praying that somehow the nuns vision would be impaired. She visibly relaxed when she saw her hand was back to normal. Karen looked at her and grabbed her hand, checking if she had something.

"I was simply cold," Clara said softly.

"Bring gloves next time," Karen said stiffly and let go of her hand. She turned to the children that were lingering outside. "Everybody get inside," snapped Karen. "Now."

Clara felt a small weight get off her shoulder as Karen redirected her attention into herding the kids back inside. That was a close one, unfortunately, her luck was running out.

* * *

 **January 1956**

The new child arrived in the first week of the new year, almost two months after Naomi left. Apparently, there had been a mistake in the system and it had delayed the child to come earlier. Or so that's what Clara heard in the middle of the night when the nuns were arguing about how the child still hadn't come.

The reason she had been awake that night was because of how loud the wind was outside. She had become sensitive to noise, picking up all of them which drove her insane. And it didn't help having additional voices inside the house echoing at that time of night. It sounded like she was in the same room as the nuns. She could hear Sister Karen's heavy pacing, a clear sign that she was distressed.

And then there was May's loud breathing. She wasn't sure if she was having a bad dream or she had been crying again. Even after two months, May still would become emotional at the mention of Naomi. Clara and Caitlin had to walk on eggshells around their sensitive friend. But ignoring their missing member, everything was fine between the three friends.

Clara was happy to say that thing were normal for her, something she was grateful for. Although that didn't mean that at times she would slip up. Burn her clothes when she got to excited or break a table and she would overhear things that she wished she hadn't hear but she was slowly learning.

Every time when Caitlin would ask if there was something wrong when she would see Clara struggled, trying to hide her problem, Ms. Miller's words would loop around her head. Clara would just give her a reassuring smile and try to act as natural as she could.

"It's a boy! It's a boy! It's a boy!" Caitlin ran to the living room where Clara was sitting down on the couch, reading a book about different types of rocks. Caitlin plopped down next to her and snatched the book from her lap.

"Hey! Give it back!" Clara exclaimed and tried to get back her book but Caitlin put it behind her back and stayed there firmly. "I'm serious Caitlin! I was in the middle of a good part."

"It's science, there's no good part. Since when did you become a geek?" Clara opened her mouth to argue but Caitlin didn't give her a chance. "But it's a boy!"

"Did you have a child a wasn't aware of?"

Caitlin smacked her arm. "Clara be serious."

"I am being serious. What at are you talking about? What's a boy?"

Caitlin looked over the couch to make sure no one was around and leaned in and hissed, "He's here!"

"Who's here?" Clara frowned and moved back, finding Caitlin's excitement unnerving. Ever since May replaced Naomi's surliness, Caitlin had become the chirpy one, which left Clara in the middle.

"The new kid. I saw him. I was outside and could hear Sister Karen talking to saw one and then could hear her giving them the welcoming speech and I peeked in and saw that it was a boy! We don't need to get a new roommate!"

"Look at that, new year, new boy. Now give me back my book."

"I'm going to ignore the fact that you've become sourer than a lemon Clara because that's not even the best part..." Caitlin sighed dreamily. "Clara, when I saw him my heart dropped. He's as cute as a button, even more. Despite his small problem."

"That he's an orphan like us...?"

"No. That he's a ginger." She wrinkled her nose. Clara laughed and gave up trying to get back her book.

"Alright, you've caught my attention. What's his name?" she asked, deciding to humor her.

Caitlin snapped out of her trance and frowned. "I don't know. I just saw him."

"That sounds promising, your children will be beautiful. But why are you telling me?"

"Because I know you won't tell anyone. May can't keep her mouth shut about other boys and Rosie won't really understand, she still acts like she's five at times."

Clara grimaced at the mention of the later girl, silently agreeing with her.

Rosie was another girl from the orphanage that had been spending more time with them about a month ago. She had previously spent time with them when Naomi was there but being a shy girl by nature, she was intimidated by the former girl aggressive nature.

Rosie's presence in the group had been met with mixed emotions. Caitlin had been more than happy about it and tried to make her feel welcomed. May would talk to her but at times would ignore her, fearing that she was trying to replace her best friend. Clara didn't really care about her.

In reality, she hadn't even realized when she had joined them until one day she had tripped over the concrete and Rosie helped her get up. Clara looked at her in bewilderment, her sudden presence confusing her but a glare from Caitlin and in reality not really caring, she shrugged and went back to her book.

"Well, I'm flattered for being the one you told first," Clara smiled at her. "But you barely met him. Or saw him. Give it a week and it will probably go away. You said the same thing about Tom, and look at you guys now, you can barely stand him."

Caitlin didn't acknowledge her and went to lay down on her bed, humming to herself, too busy daydreaming.

* * *

Almost a week had passed, and only a handful of the children had caught a glimpse of the new boy. For a small orphanage, whenever they had a new child, they didn't usually see them for a while. The nuns didn't want to overwhelm them with introducing them to everybody on their first day, which Clara thought was thoughtful of them. After a week would pass they would make them a dinner, to welcome them.

But the boy only been at the orphanage for about four days and seemed to be avoiding half of the kids from there. Clara wouldn't blame him, she did the same thing when she arrived. The only people she had interacted was with her three roommates, so she didn't find it unusual to not see the new kid.

Clara had seen half of his profile one morning when they were rushing to finish their breakfast. Even Caitlin hadn't had an opportunity to speak to him, only see him from afar.

"Go talk to him Caitlin," May suggested one afternoon when they were outside in the yard. It was a beautiful day and everybody was enjoying the sunshine.

Clara wasn't paying attention to the gossip. She had found another book from the library about the body function. She also had a dictionary in her lap, to help her search for a word she didn't understand. She had spent more of the time flipping through the dictionary looking for the word cartilage than actually reading.

"What? No! Are you out of your mind?" Caitlin yelped.

"Have you even talked to him?" Clara looked up and smiled in bemusement.

"No... but I want to... but I don't know how." Caitlin was surprisingly shy when it came to him. She had seemed to become really taken with the new boy, who she had yet to meet.

"It's not that hard. Go to him and make a small conversation. It can be an accident, bump into him and then apologize, and mention something he likes."

"But I don't know what he likes," she whined.

"Hey! Maybe Clara can talk to him," Rosie suggested quietly.

"What?" Clara and Caitlin looked at her like she had grown an extra head.

"I mean, she's really good with people and you'd get to see what Sean likes," Rosie said and May nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, but no offense Clara, but she's a little too good when it comes to the boys. She's the one that boys always like her. If you ignore her sickly pale skin that emphasizes how much she can get sick and then there's..." May trailed off.

"There's what?" Rosie asked stupidly.

"The fact that I might be insane," Clara whispered. Rosie turned scarlet in embarrassment. "But then they realize that, to quote you, am I 'young Sister Karen' which I do not appreciate being called. I do plan on getting married... hopefully."

May giggled and nodded. "Of course, you're going to get married Clara, you're a catch. Just hide your little problem."

"Already am," she muttered sourly. "And weren't we talking about Caitlin's boy? How old is that kid? What's his name anyway?"

"His name is Sean and he's twelve, going to turn in thirteen."

"Yippy. You got yourself a real man," Clara said, not looking up from her book. May snorted, earning a scornful look from Caitlin.

"Clara," Caitlin whined, pulling the grass from the floor and throwing it at her. "Don't be like that."

"Fine. If you like him, then go talk to him," Clara said and frowned when she couldn't understand a word. She leaned forward and showed it to Rosie. "Can you read this word?"

"Osmosis," she guessed. Clara gave her a fleeting smile and went back to her book.

"I can't talk to him. He's only been here for a week, and he is only with the boys. They won't leave him alone."

"He's been here four days," Clara corrected her without looking up.

"Keeping track of Caitlin's man of her dreams?" Rosie teased.

She looked up and said seriously, "No."

Rosie flushed and muttered an apology. Clara felt a sharp pain on her arm and pointedly ignored Caitlin. She sighed in resignation and continued the conversation. May and Caitlin started talking about the boys from the orphanage. Clara was flipping a page and winced when a loud noise that came suddenly. It sounded like screeching and then like a glass had broken.

She jumped and looked all over her shoulder, expecting everybody to be shocked and scared like her but everyone continued running around with no worries. So it seemed like it was just her. That didn't surprise her.

"What?" May said mockingly, seeing her whip her head around. "What did your bat ears hear?"

Rosie giggled and Caitlin shot her a disapproving look but Clara ignored her. Her ears were still ringing and she was focusing on the unexpected noise.

"Clara, seriously, what's wrong?" Rosie asked, looking at the other two girls, not used to Clara's erratic behavior.

"I'm going inside," she announced, standing up and brushing her behind.

"See what you did?" hissed Caitlin, slapping May's knee.

"I'm just going to the bathroom."

"Can you get me my jacket?" Rosie asked. "It's a little nippy outside. I don't want to catch a cold."

Caitlin made a noise. "Hey. Clara isn't wearing a jacket when it's windy and she's not in a coughing fit."

"A miracle. All her prayers are answered," May sang, making Rosie giggle again.

Clara ignored them and went inside the house. She paused at the door, hearing a loud heartbeat racing and hearing someone mumbling to themselves.

"No, no. No. Not again...— **"**

What really concerned Clara wasn't what the person was doing but their obvious fear, she could almost feel it. She walked slowly towards the noise that was coming from the dining room. She could tell the person was too busy to notice her approaching them.

Clara stopped in the threshold when she saw a ginger haired boy scrambling around, picking things up from the floor. She didn't recognize him and was about to ask who he was when she noticed what he was picking up. There was broken glass was scattered all over the place.

"Oh my gosh. What happened here?" she blurted out, accidentally making her presence known.

The boy violently flinched and dropped the glass that he had in his hand. He turned around and his mouth fell open and eyes went wide when he saw her.

"N-nothing. Just an accident," he stuttered and looked at her suspiciously. "Who are you?"

"I should be asking you the same thing. I live here." She crossed her arms over her chest and looked at him expectantly.

"I live here too," he said defensively, his hands fiddling with his shirt nervously.

"You live here?" she clarified.

"Yeah," he said begrudgingly as if that was a horrible thing. Her eyes widened in realization when she took him in, something inside her head clicking.

"You're the new boy," she blurted out, pointing at him. "Um... Sean, right?"

"Yeah," he said with the same bitterness as before and his eyes darted nervously to the door.

Clara then remembered that was the boy Caitlin had become infatuated and then looked at him more closely. He was lanky and because he was crouched down, she couldn't really tell if he was tall. But she could see that he had freckles over his cheeks and nose. She didn't find him particularly good looking but could see what Caitlin liked.

"What are you doing here? Did everybody else hear?" he demanded, his expression sour. He was defensive and Clara wouldn't blame him. He probably thought she would get in trouble.

"No, just me. No one knows, calm down."

He still remained tense, every fiber of him vibrating loudly, and still stayed rooted to the floor, his eyes darting around, afraid one of the nuns would appear in thin air and yell at him. She knew that if they would show up, either Sister Rosemary would sigh and make him clean up while Sister Karen would glare at him the entire time as he cleaned up and won't let him play with the kids for that day.

None of those punishments were awful, they were simply tedious and in the end, the nuns wouldn't hold it against them. They knew they were children and at times would make honest mistakes. Clara wondered if the previous orphanage that Sean came from took punishments more seriously. In her previous orphanage she had accidentally broken a dish while washing it because the water had been too hot and as punishment, they had locked her in the closet for two days to remind her not to make the same mistake.

"Sean," Clara said gently, slowly walking up to him. He looked scared, reminding her of the bunny she had found one time when she was a child. Ready to jump any moment from the danger. "It's alright. It's not a big deal," she reassured him.

"I broke the glass... they're going to..." he trailed off nervously. "I can't believe I broke something in my first week here."

"Hey, even if they found out, the worst that would happen is Sister Karen glaring at you and making you clean up and then she would pat you on the shoulder and probably make you pray."

Sean made a nervous noise that sounded like an attempt of laughter. "What about the other one?"

"Sister Rosemary?" Clara laughed and went on her knees, brushing the glass to the side. "She's a sweetheart. She'll try to be tough but then she'll take pity and help you clean up."

Sean relaxed slightly and shakily proceeded to pick up the glass again. He would put it aside, making a small pile.

"How did―how did it happen?" she asked hesitantly, not able to comprehend where did that glass come from. She looked around and gasped when she saw that the cabinet that was near the wall, the glass doors were all broken. "How did you break that?"

"Doesn't matter," he snapped and then glanced at her, frowning in annoyance. "Are you just going to stand there or help me?"

"A please would be nice."

He glared at her and turned his back to her. She sighed in resignation, not sure why she expected more from a boy and started picking up shards of glass, putting them in a pile that Sean had started.

"What's your name?" he asked her uncertainly, after a few seconds of silence.

"I'm Clara," she introduced herself, extending her hand. He looked at it for a few seconds before taking her hand and shaking it.

"I would say I'm Sean but you already know who I am," he said and eyed her, still suspicious of her. "What were you doing here? Everybody was supposed to be outside."

 _So where you, but instead you were inside,_ she wanted to say but instead said, "I was going to the bathroom."

Sean didn't look fully convinced. "I know who you are," he admitted.

"Then why'd you ask for my name?"

"I mean, after you introduced yourself I knew who you were," Sean clarified. "Sort of."

Clara clenched his jaw, already having a good feeling what he knew about her. Because of her erratic behavior last few months, she had been labeled as the deranged and the children had gone as far as to avoid her. It should bother her, but her three roommates still talked to her, so she had no problem with the label.

Seeing her expression, he hurried to defend himself. "I-I wasn't listening to them, I just wanted to be alone. Besides, most of it sounded fake. You don't seem to be capable of a lot. I think."

Uncomfortable where the conversation was heading, she redirected the conversation. "How did you break the glass?" she asked again.

It was his turn to look uncomfortable, avoiding her gaze. "How did you burn down the kitchen isle?" he challenged. Her eyes widened in realization. "Yeah I know about that. I didn't believe it, though."

Clara cringed, remembering the time she accidentally destroyed the isle. She had no idea how she weaseled herself out of being shipped off to an asylum but she was grateful when her only punishment had been to clean the floors with a toothbrush.

"Let's just clean this up before someone walks in," she said instead. Sean looked at her unsurely but didn't argue with her. She could feel him glance at her every second and sighed. "What is it?"

"You're not―you're not going to tell the nuns right? They're going to find out about this."

"I already said don't worry. If you want you can shift the blame to Ron and Johnathan, they break everything."

"No, I can't do that," Sean whispered harshly. "They're going to know it's me."

"Not if you don't know who did it."

Sean threw her a bewildered look.

"If you tell yourself you don't know who broke this, then they won't know who broke it. Lie to yourself and you'll believe that you don't know who did it. It's this weird mind trick."

Sean looked completely lost but nodded slowly. "I need to clean it up. I can't leave it like this. I can't believe I broke this."

They were about to finish when Clara messed up everything. She was picking up a sharp piece of one of the broken glasses broke when it pierced her skin, going in deep. She pulled it out hastily and grimaced when she saw blood dripping. She unsuccessfully tried to hide it from Sean but he saw it.

"Oh no," he groaned, his face turning into a deep scarlet. "I'm so sorry. I can't believe this. Damn it. I'm sorry."

"No it's fine," she assured him quickly, hoping he would let it go. "It's not that bad."

But it actually was, blood kept spilling from the cut. And even when she tried to cover it with the edge of her thin shirt, it would bleed through and drip down. But she wasn't worried, she knew that in a few seconds the small gash would knit itself back and it would be like she never got cut. Unfortunately, Sean didn't know that.

"No, it's not. Look at how deep it is. Stay right here. I'll be back, I'm going to get something to stop it from bleeding."

"What?" she yelped, feeling a wave of panic. "No. You don't have to. It's fine."

But Sean had already left. She really was fine; her hand had already healed. Clara groaned, realizing what she had to do if she wanted to avoid Sean's questioning.

She reluctantly picked up a shard of glass and listened carefully for Sean. She could hear him rummaging around the kitchen, his heart racing fast and cursing under his breath when he couldn't find any napkins. When she heard him approaching a few feet away, she bit her lip and without hesitating, dug the glass in her palm. Blood started squirting and she threw the bloody glass to the side.

She cringed but continued digging her nails where the blood was to stop herself from healing. Thankfully, Sean rushed into the room in that second and drop to his knees with crumpled napkins.

"I couldn't find the napkins, I had to look around. Just put it there and hopefully it doesn't bleed too much. I don't think I can find any more."

If Sean hadn't been close to breaking down, she would have laughed but she just gave him a reassuring smile. "It's fine. It's not that bad."

"I'm so sorry," he apologized again. "For everything. Your hand. Breaking the glass. Wasting your time. Sorry. Here you go."

"I said that it's fine." She dabbed her hand, even when her head had already healed. She frowned when she saw the napkins already had dried blood and looked at Sean's hand and saw there was a small line of blood in the right one, where a glass had cut him. "Hey, I think you got cut."

"Huh?" She grabbed his hand to show him and the moment she touched him, she felt a sharp pain on her right hand, that made her involuntarily gasp. He looked at her and grabbed her shoulder. "Are you okay?"

She let go of him and shuddered. "Sorry. I just... never mind."

There was a look understanding in his face. "Now I get it," he muttered. She shot him a questioning look that he ignored. "So what were you saying before?"

"What? Oh—right. I said I think you got cut. There's some blood."

He looked down to examined both of his hands and squinted. "I don't see anything."

"It's right there. It's—" She abruptly stopped when she saw that he was fine, there was no sign that he had a small cut.

"But you're cut in your other hand too," Sean pointed out.

"What? No, I'm not. I'm fine."

"Yes you are," he insisted and grabbed the napkin she was gripping. "It's a small one, though."

She looked down to where he placed the napkin and felt a wave of nausea when she saw that she was sporting the same exact cut that Sean had previously in his hand.

 _That's a new one,_ she thought grimly and probed it lightly. _When is this going to end?_

She looked at Sean smooth hand and then back at hers. Not wanting to deal with another problem, abruptly, she stood up clumsily, startling Sean and making him fall back.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, not entirely sure of what but felt like she needed to say it.

"You can go," he said, glancing around. "You already did enough. I don't want you to get you in trouble."

Clara nodded distractedly, her attention still on her hand. Why hasn't she healed? She looked at Sean and gave him a small smile. "Trust me, there are worse things out there than breaking glass."

"Yeah, don't I know it," he said under his breath, something Clara was sure she wasn't supposed to hear.

Clara tilted her head and somehow felt compelled to ask what was the worst he's experienced but she refrained herself and decided to step back, letting him finish on his own.

"Thanks again." Sean gave her a faint smile. There wasn't much to say anymore, so she started making her way to the door. She stopped when she heard Sean whispered to himself again. Pausing she turned around.

"Welcome to Saint Elena's," Clara said quietly and without waiting for his response, turned around and headed outside, to join her friends once again, leaving the boy alone as he still cleaned up his she sat down in the grass with her friends, she realized she never got a chance to ask what he thought about Caitlin.

It wasn't until Caitlin asked her what took her such a long time to go to the bathroom when she realized she never got a chance to ask what he thought about Caitlin.

* * *

 **Look who made an appearance? Finally someone canon. Like I said, in the movies they didn't really flesh the character's out, so I'm taking creative liberty to create some of their back stories, like Sean's. I hope you like it and would love to hear of this character's appearance.**

 **Oh, and if you recognized the Schrodinger's Cat explanation, it's because I got a direct quote from the television show, the Big Bang Theory. No one can explain science better than Sheldon Cooper.**

 **Also, after this chapter things are slowly going to start picking up if you catch my drift (meaning more canon characters are going to appear). Sorry if there any errors, my brain sort of shut down the third time I looked it over.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own X-Men or anything Marvel or the Big Bang Theory, but I do own my OC's and original plot and dialogue.**

* * *

 **Saskia: _ **Thank you for the birthday wishes and I turned eighteen (still don't feel that age). Thank you for telling me my error, I** know a little German so at times I will make mistakes (e.i. last chapter). And yes, the dream was strange (even for me) but it wasn't just a filler, it has a purpose that will come up in later chapters. You're amazing too :)_**


	5. Down Spiral

**You would think having a summer break would mean more time to write but it turns out that no, I can't write that much. I started college early and, as I've heard, it's so time-consuming. And when I have time, my brain is so fried that I don't even when to think about trying to form a sentence.**

 **But anyways, sorry for the rant, I just wanted to write down my frustrations of not having time to write something fun. But going back to the story, I'm so thrilled that you guys seemed to enjoy Sean appearance and hopefully you'll enjoy the others as they start appearing (maybe even in this chapter... maybe, we'll see).**

 **Warning, there's going to be various time jumps in this chapter to move along the story, so hopefully it doesn't bother you.**

 **Happy reading :)**

* * *

 **Chapter Five: Down Spiral**

* * *

 _ **"In our extreme youth, in our most humiliating sorrow, we think we are alone. When we are older we find that others have suffered too."**_  
― Suzanne Moarny

* * *

 **April 1956**

Clara knew that she finally had screwed up.

And there had been many moments in her life when she had said that sentence, "I've screwed up," and thought nothing would be able to top it.

When she broke the kitchen dishes. When she dropped ink on her only blouse. When she lost her cross and 'borrowed' Naomi's in the meantime. When she got her braid tangled in a fence. When she accidentally dropped soup on Sister Rosemary. When she burned down the kitchen isle. When she ripped a page on Sister Karen's bible.

But this time, she was wrong. _Nothing_ would top this screw up.

Like the other times, it wasn't on purpose. It just happened, just like most things happened in her life. Unexpected and, most definitely, unwanted. She had grown accustomed for strange occurrences with herself. Always expecting the unexpected them but that day, she was just not prepared.

She had gone outside to drop off the garbage when she heard a faint beating of a heart. She would have ignored it but the squeaking noise was what made her look over the bushes. On the floor was a bird with a broken wing and it was helplessly flapping around. She was just going to pick it up and place back into its nest. That's when it happened.

 _Necromancy._ _The devil's work_ , a voice hissed to Clara, who might have accidentally brought a bird back to life.

It sounded crazy, as most of all things that have happened in her life but that one topped it. Yes, she might have committed a very bad deed that for sure get her to hell. That wasn't the worst part, why she was in a panicked state.

It's what happened afterward. When she started coughing up blood, feeling like her lungs were about to explode. She could see the birds fluttering, regaining its strength while she was losing hers. But she couldn't stop, she stayed there until the bird finally was able to flap his wings and fly into the cloudless sky.

That's when she collapsed to the floor and started crying. Hot tears blurred her vision, and she tried to wipe them but her entire body was drained and still felt pain radiating all over. Slowly the pain started disappearing. She felt hollow inside like she had lost a part of herself when she was helping the innocent bird.

She stayed there until May went out to look for her. She couldn't come up with anything to validate her state but May come up with her to conclusions and she went with them, not caring what they thought about her anymore. They thought she was losing her mind, that she was a religious nut.

She had really screwed up that day.

Not only had she set in stone her place in hell, she also missed her thirteenth birthday dinner.

* * *

 **May 1956**

"Shit!"

"Language."

Caitlin had left a blood stain on Clara's bed sheets when she had gotten a paper cut. Clara could have helped her, make the cut disappear but she just watched from her bed as she rushed out of the room to get a bandage and insulted her at the same time.

"No running on the hall," Clara yelled out and laughed, throwing herself in the bad. She did felt bad for doing nothing when she could have. But she shouldn't, that was her rule.

"Boys aren't supposed to be upstairs. Go away!" Clara heard Rosie shriek too loud for her liking. She covered her ears but it didn't drown her high pitch voice. "Go away, Ron!"

Clara raised her head and watched Rosie try to slam the door shut but someone was stopping her.

"You're not even changing, why are you yelling? And the rules is that I'm not allowed in the rooms," Clara heard Ron argue. "Sister Rosemary gave me permission to go here and get you to go downstairs."

"Ron! Go away! No boys allowed!" Rosie practically whined.

"Shut up, Rosie," Ron snapped. "And get your ass downstairs."

Clara snorted which earned her a scornful look from the girl. "Go," she whispered to her. "He's not going to leave."

"Fine then. I'll go!" Rosie huffed and stormed out of the room, shoving Ron to the side.

"Thank you for your participation," Ron yelled at her and under his breath added, "you dumb blonde."

Clara covered her mouth, not sure if she wanted to laugh or gasp. She reluctantly stood up from the bed and went out of the room. Even though she wasn't particularly hungry, missing dinner was not an option.

"Clara, hey!"

She grunted when she slammed into a body that had appeared out nowhere.

"Oops, sorry, sorry," Ron muffled voice said to her neck. She pulled away quickly, trying not to rub her neck in disgust. Clara was an inch taller than him which was saying something. He was one of the taller boys from her grade. She smoothed her clothes and tried to look casual, ignoring their painful bump.

"Well, look at that, Ron what are you doing here?"

"Unless your deaf which you're not with those bat ears you've got, you should've heard Rosie's winning."

"I did hear but did you hear her? No boys allowed upstairs, that's the rule. Go away, Ron," she teased, shooing him away. He looked at her in exasperation, not finding her funny.

"In case you didn't hear me, I'm here because it's time for dinner and half of the girls aren't going _downstairs to eat,_ " he yelled out and more than one head stuck out of the room. " _Get your butts downstairs_!"

"They're not going downstairs until Sister Karen comes upstairs and pulls them by their braids."

"Well, don't say I didn't try and you're going to be a witness if Sister Karen comes charging at me with her bible. Not that it's the first time that would happen," he muttered darkly the last part.

"I remember, I was inside with fever while you were outside running for your life. But don't worry, you did your job. So don't worry, I'll still protect you. Come on, let's go," Clara said and tugged on his hand and he obliged.

As they walked down the long hall, she noticed that he walked too closely to her, his hands brushing her walked hand every time he moved it and glanced at him. He was already looking at her and shot her a grin and without asking permission, grabbed her hand. She didn't try hard to hide her smile.

Ron and she had an interesting relationship. They've always been friendly with each, ever since he moved to Saint Elena's five years ago. He always teased her and give her at times his cookies. She would listen to him talk and talk about everything that caught his attention. She did admit to her friends one night, that she found Ron to be pretty cute but that was it. She didn't really know what he thought about her.

She did find out on her birthday. Ron had given Clara her first kiss and she was thrilled. And ever since then, they were in a strange place. Caitlin and May teased her merciless, singing about sitting on a tree and spelling out words. She wanted to say there was no sitting on trees and K-I-S-S-I-N-G but knew that they would ignore her and go on with their wild fantasies.

They were friends that held hands at times when they would sit down for Sunday mass and would kiss his cheek in the morning. It was good enough for her, she never looked for more.

When they reached downstairs, she reluctantly let go of his hand. Ron gave her a small smile and both went to take their usual seats on the table. May was already there and talking to one of the girls. She gave her a quick grin but the girl who was talking to her, look at her in distaste and got up from the table.

"Ignore her, Clara," May said soothingly and rubbed her arm. "Cathy is having a bad day."

"I wasn't even paying attention," Clara lied and sat down. May was obviously lying because it seemed that most of the girls were always having a bad day when she was around.

"Clara not paying attention? Shocking," Caitlin voice joined them and sat down next to her. Clara looked at her wearily and threw her napkin in front of her.

"I'm going to wash up," Clara announced and abruptly stood up.

"Wait, hold on, it was a joke—"

She ignore Caitlin and headed down the hall. From behind her she could hear arguing between her two friends and focused on her breathing, to avoid a headache forming. She took her time in the bathroom and when she was turning the faucet off, Clara heard a loud noise of glass breaking. Drying her hands, she stepped out of the restroom and saw Sean on the floor picking up shards of glass.

 _Of course it's Sean,_ she thought. He was muttering to himself and dumping the shards of glass into a vase on the table next to him, obviously trying to get rid of the incident. She sighed and walked up to him. "Broke something again?"

"What the—damn, Clara." Sean looked up at her and flinch when she saw her. Clara had to bite down, to stop herself from smiling. Sean tended to avoid her, mostly because whenever they ran into each other he was trying to hide his messes and she would cover for him.

His first incident, the cabinet, no one found out it was him but then the other incident happened and that's when the nuns caught on that it was him. As Clara promised him, they didn't punish him but they did make him clean up his mess.

Turns out, Sean was quite a clutz, always breaking things. Especially glass, that was his specialty. His nickname was Slippery Sean, the boy who always broke something. He didn't seem to care about the name, joking with them even but he always got really nervous whenever they would ask him about everything he broke.

He was an odd boy but she didn't bother. He was a boy, all of them had something strange in them.

"Need help?" she offered and he shook his head.

"I'm fine, I just need to clean this up," he muttered. "Need a few minutes."

The bell rang, indicating that dinner was about to start in a one minute. Sean sighed and picked up his pace to get rid of the evidence of his newest mistake.

"I'll tell the nuns that you had a stomach ache," she said and stepped over the glass, heading back to the dining.

"Thanks. I'll cover for you next time."

She stilled for a second and then continued on, pretending she didn't hear him say that. When she took a seat, they had started the prayers. Clara earned a dirty look from Sister Karen and she smiled guiltily.

"Amen," everybody said in unison. Everybody burst into chatter and the sound of forks scraping plates rang around the small room. Clara's eyes drifted to the empty seat that Sean usually occupied. He sat next to Ron who grinned at her when their eyes connected.

She had failed to notice that Caitlin had been talking her ear off. It seemed that she was talking about Sean and their small encounter in the morning. Caitlin still was infatuated with him but unfortunately, it looked like Sean didn't reciprocate her feelings. Clara had the feeling that he didn't even know who Caitlin was.

"And, I think it went fine? I mean, right? Oh jeez, I hope I didn't scare him off," rambled Caitlin.

"No, you didn't," Clara offered, pretending to listen to her best friend small problems. She didn't mind. Anything mundane in her life was welcomed. She desperately needed normalcy. That's the only way she would make it alive.

* * *

 **June 1956**

Clara had run all the way to school to make it in on time. She didn't have a chance to talk to her friends or with Ms. Miller. But when class ended, she stayed in her desk, waiting for a chance to talk to her teacher.

For the past month, Clara had gotten close to Ms. Miller. She had found out that her first name was Mary. She liked it. It was short and sweet. She also learned that she was born in Texas but moved around all her life, living a nomad life. Her parents were living in New York and hadn't seen them in almost a year. Her job has made it difficult to see her family and that was hard for her.

The more Clara spent time with Ms. Miller, the more she noticed strange things from her teacher. Clara considered herself smart. Not like the nuns, age wise or book wise, like the teachers, but people's smart. She could always read them well. Know when they're happy, stressed, preoccupied or when they were lying.

She was especially good when it came to people lying. She knew Caitlin lied about forgetting her homework. Or when May lied about not having been crying in the middle of the night. Or when one of the boys would lie about breaking the furniture. Or that Ms. Miller was blatantly lying to her, which was often.

In the beginning, Clara hadn't noticed but then she started seeing how jumpy Ms. Miller would get at the time, how she often would slip up in their conversation and then divert it quickly. After seeing the truth, Clara couldn't ignore all the obvious signs.

Clara felt like she had a big secret like her. She wanted to ask her what if she was. Ms. Miller could trust her, just like she did. She trusted her enough to tell her about her strange recurring dream. The one with the mud, the children, her mother, the loneliness. According to the teacher, dreams that repeat themselves are a way to tell you something from her past.

Clara didn't like that. Especially when Ms. Miller said that the dream could be related to her dead parents. That didn't make any sense. They died when she was one, there was nothing about them that she remembered. She had no pictures of them, they couldn't find them. It was a miracle they managed to find out what her name was.

The only thing she did knew about them was that they were immigrants from Europe, meaning they had no immediate family in the States and they died in a car crash. The only survivor was her, the tiny child that came out unscathed. Clara wanted to see her birth certificate but Sister Karen snapped at her and never tried to ask for it again.

Ms. Miller had nodded sympathetically at her and then she lied to her. Words came out and her heart started beating faster, something Clara had learned that happened when people lied.

Being short tempered, Clara had spoken up and stayed she had to go and rushed out of the room.

She felt bad for leaving her all of sudden but finding out that she was lying to her. Her emotions had gotten the best of her and she started feeling herself burning up.

Ms. Miller, sensing that something went wrong had tried to make amends to her and offered to help her out. She had a friend that worked in a diner and they were looking for someone to help out in the afternoons. Clara, who had mentioned that she wished to buy better clothes, was thrilled which had led to her early in the morning to ask Sister Karen for permission to work.

It had been an awkward ordeal the entire conversation.

"Can I get a job?" Clara had asked, balling her hands to her side to stop herself from fiddling with her shirt nervously. She was relieved that there was a table to hide how white her knuckles were.

Sister Karen had stared at her, scrutinizing her expression. "Why do you want one, Clara?"

She nodded, the answer already in her head and spoke, making sure to be careful how she said things and not come off as rude. "I want to do something. I want to have some money and be able to buy a new sweater. I appreciate what you give me, I will always be in your debt for everything you've given me," she said, nothing but sincere. "But I also know that you and Sister Rosemary have to worry about the others, especially the younger ones. I don't want to burden you with my weight when I can do it myself."

Karen stared at Clara, her expression not changing. It didn't unnerve Clara, she was accustomed to Karen's long stares. She didn't want to get ahead of herself but she had a feeling that she was going to get the job. She didn't just want to work to take away the pressure of the nuns to be her things but she wanted to distract herself, not having to think about all the things she's done.

"Thank you, Clara," Karen finally spoke up. Clara straightened and tried to ignore the slight panic she felt. "Always thinking about others, that's a good Catholic. I'm very proud of you."

She smiled at her. "Thank you. That's all I want. To be good."

"And you are," Karen said. "You can the job. But it will not interfere with your school. The moment I see that you're slipping, you resign. Understand, Clara?"

She beamed and wanted to hug Karen but refrained herself. The nun seemed to not like physical contact. She nodded tightly, trying to hide an excited squeal. When she got out of the room, Sister Rosemary was outside, grinning.

"See Clara? If you let things go as the Lord allows, you will be surprise how things go your way," she said, guessing that she was allowed to work.

"Thank you, thank you." Clara threw herself to the nun and hugged her tightly. Rosemary, unlike Karen, loved hugging the children. She had no problem being affectionate with them and made sure to know that they all meant the world to her. Clara tended to keep to herself but she loved when people would hug her or hold her. She always craved the human touch but had to control herself. Today, all of that self control went out the window.

"It's not a problem, sweetie," Rosemary said, smoothing the back of Clara's hair and letting her go. She bopped the young girl's nose and pushed her gently. "Now run along, you have to go to school."

Five hours had passed since her conversation with Sister Karen and Clara was still was giddy about it. The idea of her having money to be able to buy a warmer sweater made her want to start working at the moment.

"What's going on Clara?" Ms. Miller said, getting up from her desk and taking a seat in the desk across from hers.

"I can get a job," Clara announced. "I asked the nuns and they said yes as long as I meet their requirements but of course I will."

"That's great," Ms. Miller exclaimed, grinning widely.

"So can you talk to your friend?" she asked eagerly, clasping her hands in front of her. Ms. Miller had promised her to talk to her friend, who was the manager of a small diner that was near the school, and see if they could get her a job.

"Yes I can," Ms, Miller nodded. She glanced at the window, seeing that it was getting dark. "I'll take you home, I'm about to leave."

Clara shook her head and gave her a smile. "No, you don't have to worry about that. The nuns don't let us actually walk alone. One of the boys from Saint Elena's is waiting for me."

"If you say so, then alright," Ms. Miller smiled at her. "Have a nice day and I'm incredibly happy that you can work. You deserve it, Clara."

"Thank you. And don't worry, I will," she said and giving her one last smile, she turned around and left.

"Hey, Clara," Ron said and ran up to her. She smiled warmly and waited for him. Ron was out of breath when he reached her. "Ready to go back to Saint Elena's? I'm starving."

"Sure, let me just—no," Clara groaned, rifling frantically through her bad. She threw her head back, frustrated and started walking backward. "I forgot my book at school. I have to go back and get it. I need it, I can't not have it."

"I'll go with you," Ron offered, already going with her but she waved him off.

"No, it's fine. It will be super quick. You can head out without me."

Ron looked at her as if she was out of her mind. "No, I can't leave you alone, Clara. That's the rule. If I show up without you, the Sisters will skin me. I mean they won't but they might crucify me."

She smiled but didn't stop walking. "Don't worry, Ron. I'll be fine. I'll be quick, I'm not going to get hurt."

"No, I don't like it," he grunted and stomped frustrated. "I can get into trouble. Sister Karen is terrifying."

To assure him, she leaned in a gave him a peck in the mouth. He became flushed and stammered. "Th-that's not fair, Clara. I still don't want you to be alone. It's going to be dark and—"

"I'll be quick. Okay? Yeah, great. Bye, Ron. See you later." She grinned and waved at him slyly before turning around jogged back to the school.

"Don't take long! I mean it, Clara!" She could hear Ron yelling at her. She smiled and while she was jogging, her mind didn't focus on the noise that was coming from the parking lot. The sound of a car hitting a body, screeching car tires and the sound of human spitting blood.

Later on, when they found her under a tree covered in blood, her eyes bloodshed and the inside of her broken permanently, she wondered what could have gone differently. A part of her wished that she had listened to Ron and not gone back to school. The other part of her wished that she should have not listened to him and gone sooner to the school.

* * *

 **July 1956**

She felt a wave of exhaustion but didn't want to go to sleep. Sleeping wasn't that important anymore. She didn't have school, one thing not to worry about. Sleeping was an option that moment. It was also hard for her to sleep. She tended to avoid it. Every time she closed her eyes, she would see Ms. Miller's dead body.

 _She gripped her hand, trying in vain to take everything away. She could feel it. Everything changing. She could almost feel Ms. Miller heartbeat picking up. She was so close but Clara also felt like she was dying._

That's the terrifying part. That was the part that made her let go and run away like a coward.

Maybe she could have saved her. But she would never find out. She had let Ms. Miller die. And the worst thing of the entire situation was that she didn't glance back.

Her eyes flew open and she slowly let loose of her grip on the sheets. She looked to her right and saw that time, she didn't wake up her roommates. They were peacefully sleeping, having no worries at the moment.

"Oh, no," she whispered in horror when she heard a familiar noise. Quickly, she sat up from the bed and got out, staring at the burning sheets in frustration. Hesitating for a second, she reached out and placed her hands where the fire was.

It stung, almost like being pricked by a needle, but the pain would go away instantly. She could feel the fire going through her skin, almost becoming part of her.

She wiped her hands on her legs and quietly slipped out of the room, going to the bathroom. When she reached it, she turned on the light and inspected the damage. Her hands had burned but they were already healing. The only thing left were the ashes on her nightgown.

Feeling tired, Clara leaned against the cool, tile wall and slid to the floor. She pulled her feet up to her chest and rested her chin on them, heaving a sigh. Since Ms. Miller's death, Clara had avoided using her problem—no matter how much time has passed, she always called it that, having no other words to describe it. Seeing what she was capable of doing, it scared her.

She thought it was fascinating in the beginning. Terrifying but it was something amazing that she couldn't ignore it. Yet, every time she used it, all she could feel was the guilt that overwhelmed her. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to relax her body, not wanting to have to lose another nightgown.

As she could feel herself drift off to sleep, despite her uncomfortable position, her mind wouldn't stop attacking her.

 _It was your fault. You are to blame and nobody else. It was your fault._

* * *

 **August 1956**

She saw Caitlin outside and for a brief second contemplated going to her. To just sit down and hear the latest gossip of a tabloid she read in the convenience store in secret. But as quickly at the idea came to her, she shoved the idea to the side, knowing that wouldn't happen in the moment, as much as she wished for it. The girls weren't on the best term currently. Caitlin was mad at Clara. Clara was mad at Caitlin. One for shunning her, for not wanting to talk about Ms. Miller death. And the other for not understanding the desperate need to share what was wrong with her life.

Apparently, it was Caitlin's duty as a best friend to help them cope with difficult situations but Clara didn't see it. She didn't want to talk to Caitlin about what happened that day because she wouldn't understand. Not even she understood. Couldn't Caitlin understand that Clara wasn't in the position to share what was going on.

Because of their small fallout, which apparently was her fault (it was not), May and Rosie preferred to be with Caitlin. That angered Clara and made her destroy two tables and her only sweater. After a few days of anger and resentment, when she was taking a cold shower, it showed that they only talked to her because of Caitlin, she always knew that they didn't really want to be her friends. And in another wave of anguish, the water started boiling and the faucet broke from the shower.

Her anger always caused her two destroy things, which was a new development. Especially for someone who once was beaten for accidentally breaking a plate and didn't feel any spite towards them and stupidly forgave them, any small comment that would sound wrong to Clara would make her lose her temper. Which would result in something going to flames. And she would get in trouble by the nuns, if she was caught, which was most times. She would hear them late at night, whispering about her.

"... severe problems..."

"... an arsonist.."

"... special help..."

"... maybe we should speak to her. She should know..."

If she would look at her silver lining, it was great that the children of the orphanage were avoiding her. No one would get hurt, except her. She always got hurt, ever since she was a child. The car accident, Saint Thomas, and now her.

She tried to make the situation by not rocking the boat. It was a shame really, even if she was causing problems, Clara felt like she was learning more about her problem.

Every time she would use it, her skin would burn off. It was a disgusting sight, her flesh would be bright red and bubble up. But then it would get engulf by the flames, getting replace with something almost pretty. Each time she would feel less pain. Whether it was because she was getting used to the pain or started to enjoy it, she didn't know.

* * *

 **September 1956**

There was gum in her skirt.

And some in her hair too. At least that's what she hoped that sticky substance was when she went under the table to scrape off the gunk. She huffed in annoyance, wiping her sweaty hair out of her forehead, and crawled out backward. She got up and wiping all the dirt of her uniform.

She threw a dirty look at her manager, Steve, who was forced her to clean under the tables in the middle of a rush instead when it was closing time.

"No, not today," she muttered and had to stop her urge to smack those smug faces of the three that were in a table. She wasn't a violent person, she didn't like it but she didn't have that morality that moment.

Clara was in a foul mood that day because in the previous night she hadn't been able to go to sleep. She hated that dream, it was so loud and repetitive. It wasn't the one when she was stuck in that rainy, muddy camp. It was the one that made her cry at night and want to throw things against the wall.

When she went for her Friday afternoon shift, Clara had been ordered by her moody manager to scrape off all the gunk off the tables. That usually was left for the waitress who came in last but because Clara has been not at her best, she was given the honor to do it in the middle of the day, where everybody could see her.

After getting weird substances on her and banging her head more than once, she then started serving tables, which is where her patience started wearing off.

The diner was loud as usual but it wasn't because it was packed, it was still early for the afternoon rush. It was loud because of Jonathan, Sean, and Ron. The annoying friends. The unbreakable trio. Almost like how Clara, May, and Cailtin. Except they were annoying.

Clara hated when they came during her shifts. They always came to her section, just to annoy her. They probably hope to get free pie or milkshakes but she has made it clear every time they showed up that she wasn't going to play favorites. She had a job that she wanted to keep. Especially since she recently got upgraded to a waitress.

"Hey, Clara!" Ron said, giving her a guilty smile. She tried to smile, knowing that he didn't mean harm. "Did you know it's my birthday today?"

"Oh, oh—hold on, doesn't this diner give free pie on someone's birthday?" Johnathan said, raising his eyebrow suggestively.

"It's not your birthday, Ron," she said in a sickeningly sweet voice, "so shut your mouth or else I'm going to shove a bible down your throat to make you repent your lies and never do it again."

Sean made weird squeaking noise and immediately clamped his mouth shut, looking horrified. He glanced around the room frantically and seemed to relax when nobody was looking at him.

"Jeez, Sean. What's with the noise? Haven't gone through puberty?" Johnathan taunted, his eyes glinting with malice. It was not a secret that Johnathan hated him. He didn't like sharing Ron. That was the thing about being an orphan it made them greedy with the things that they had, they became territorial.

"Johnathan," Clara warned him.

"No, it's fine. But no—I mean yes. It's just nothing, uh, hungry," Sean said quickly and started making weird noises. "Excuse me, I have to go to the bathroom."

He pushed Ron to get up and slid out of the booth, bolting to the bathroom. Clara watched him slam his body into somebody but that didn't stop him from running. She glanced at the other two boys and looked at them. If they kept it up, she was going to lose her job. So going under the tables would have been for nothing.

"We are starving actually," Ron said. "Can we get some cokes? Oh, and some fries and burgers. Oh, right, and some pie."

"Hold on, we can't order like that. We need menus. Where are they? That is being a bad waitress, Clara, for not being prepared. We can complain to your manager. Get us some menus."

"Are you serious?" She gritted her teeth, ready to smack them, not caring if she got fired. She hated this stupid job anyway. She didn't even know why she tried.

 _Ding._

The bell that rang every time someone opened the diner door, which made Clara's head snap instinctively. She didn't get a chance to see who it was because the boys were calling her. Johnathan was whistling to grab her attention. She reluctantly broke her gaze from and wished that she was not working that afternoon.

"What do you want?" she snapped.

"We want our food and you're not getting it. Ron, say something to Clara. Control her because I just can't with her."

"John," Ron snapped, his pulse quickening. He was angry and so was she.

"I'll be back with the menus and you dim wits better not cause any trouble or else I will shove that rubber pie down your shorts," she said shortly and turned around.

"What is wrong with you?" Ron was hissing to Johnathan when he thought Clara was earshot but she could hear them very clearly.

"What? It's not my fault that you were with her and didn't know she was crazy. I'm not surprised that the nuns haven't hauled her off to the nuthouse. She belongs there," Johnathan said.

"She's not crazy. Stop saying that."

"Whatever you say but face it, she is. One of these, she's going to be there. I already heard Sister Karen talking about it with Sister Rosemary."

"You're lying," Ron said, but didn't sound too convinced.

"Nope. They're worried about her 'mental state' and pray for her every day. I say they should throw her with the loony's."

Clara gripped her pad tightly, feeling a pain shoot through her body. Her free hand went up to touch her small cross in comfort.

 _I'm not going to a nuthouse,_ she thought fiercely and continued walking. Practically ripping the menus from the cashier who handed them to her, she turned around and threw them carelessly to the boy's table. Sean had already joined them and gave her a quick thanks.

"Order up, quickly."

"Jeez, Clara. Take it easy. Let's take a second to order."

She glanced furtively over her shoulder, hoping one of the other waitresses would take pity for her and instead, she saw that he was waiting idly in his booth, waiting for his usual order; black coffee with apple pie.

Clara completely forgot about Ron laughing like a maniac, Sean making those squawking noise and Johnathan throwing straws at everybody who passed them. She couldn't stop staring at him.

She didn't know how long he had been coming to the diner but it wasn't long. Maybe two or three weeks. He didn't come every day in the beginning but this week, he had been showing up every day in the afternoon.

She never would admit it, but she would look forward to him to show up. He was a middle-aged man, his age was hazy for her. Something was off about him, he didn't belong in a rundown diner ordering black coffee and apple pie. He never came to her section, always getting the corner booth that was next to a window.

She had to admit the reason she was obsessed with the man was because she knew he always looked at her. She couldn't prove it but she knew. Maybe it was an extra sense that she had developed along with her other problems.

"Clara?"

She flinched when she felt something hit her face. She finally broke her gaze and looked back at the boys on the table in front of her. They had thrown a straw. She sighed in irritation and place her hands on her hips.

"If you order something you better pay for it," she warned them, remembering the last time they didn't have enough money for their food. She had been forced to pay the rest from her tips. Johnathan smirked, despite doing stupid things, didn't miss her staring at him.

"Who's that? New boyfriend? Left Ron for a real man?" he teased. Clara wanted to argue that Ron hadn't been her boyfriend in months but it wasn't his business. It actually was no one _fucking_ business what she did or why she did it. Couldn't people understand that and not judge and hate her?

"Seriously, Clara? Why? He's so old. And look at Ron. He's not a looker but he's young," Johnathan continued. The man hadn't looked up from his coffee, not noticing that there was more than one pair of eyes on him.

Ron, who hadn't been paying attention, head snapped up and looked from Johnathan and Clara. "What? Who you talking about?"

"Nobody," she gritted her teeth, feeling hot rage go through her veins. She exhaled through her nose, willing herself to calm down or else she was going to explode. "Are you going to order or what? I don't have all day."

Seeing her expression, the boys quickly gave her their orders, the same exact food they had said previously. She scribbled their orders down almost viciously and when she walked away from them, she didn't miss the opportunity to accidentally smack Ron Johnathan with her pad. Sean was too far from her reach.

Clara wasn't a fan of violence, but if blood wasn't shed, she would not consider it violence.

"Sorry about them," she heard him whisper so quietly, that if she didn't have sensitive hearing, she wouldn't have heard him. She shrugged.

"Table twelve is ready," the cook yelled out, making her hurry up to serve her other table.

"Oh, by the way, Claire," Steve said, stopping her. She pressed her lips tightly, refraining from snapping that wasn't her name. "There's broken glass in the men's room. Go clean it up when you have a chance."

"But it's the men's room," she said in disbelief. "I'm a girl. A very young girl."

Steve shrugged, basically saying it wasn't his problem, and walked away, yelling at another waitress.

"Unbelievable," she muttered and continued on. Not being able to help herself, when Clara went to the other side of the counter, she glanced at the man and she knew that he had been looking at her. Clara may be crazy but she wasn't paranoid.

* * *

The next day, she had a hard time hiding her yawns which earned her a scornful look from her manager. She shot him an apologetic smile and hurried off to attend the customers. She had fallen asleep on the bathroom floor again (it was starting to become a routine) and was woken up when one of the girls took an early shower.

Clara almost crashed with one of the waitresses that were caring a platter of food when she saw him. He wasn't supposed to be there. It was too early, it was morning. But he was there, in the same booth as always except he didn't have anything on his table. She glanced around the diner and saw Darla, the waitress who always served him.

"Hey, Darla," Clara said, trying to sound cheerful when she approached her. "Can I―?"

"Oh, honey," Darla gushed, looking relieved to see her. Without asking, she handed Clara two plates full of food. Clara grimaced at the unexpected weight and had to stop herself from stumbling. "Give me a hand with these dishes. I am swamped, seems like everybody wants to be in my section."

"I can help you with some of your tables if you want then. I can get that one over there," she offered, jerking her head where the man was all alone.

"No, no, it's fine. Just pass these plates around to table five and eight, that would be great. Now scoot, lots to do and not much help. Come on, Claire."

"It's Clara," she grumbled.

"But Claire is much nicer name. Those nuns and their sacrilegious names," Darla tsked and scampered off.

Clara pursed her lips, annoyed at how blatantly rude and ignorant Darla's comments were at times. Reluctantly, she did as she was told and served the food to their designated tables. When she looked back to the table of the man, he was gone. There was nothing on his table which meant he ordered nothing.

Her curiosity taking the best of her, Clara was about to check outside the window when her body crashed with Darla's, who at the moment had been caring a trait of hot soup and spilled all over Clara.

She was going to get it. And she did by her manager. He yelled at her in the kitchens that she had been distracted lately and kept messing up, that did not impress him. She had to beg him to not fire her on the spot.

That's how she found herself, alone in the diner at night, cleaning all the tables. She was scrubbing a weird looking sticky substance in the table from a far corner, making her want to yell in frustration when it refused to come off.

"Come on," she gritted and threw the rag on the table. She sighed and run her fingers through her hair in frustration. She leaned in against the table, focusing on the buzzing noise of the machines from the kitchen.

Despite the diner being silent, it was loud. Everything could be heard. And outside the noise was even worse. She tilted her head and gripped the table tighter, hearing noise coming from outside. She squinted and could make out two body's outside. She was only sure because she could hear their heartbeat.

She watched the person stand there speaking to someone, a man she guessed. She concentrated what they were saying but couldn't make out what they were saying. There were too many noises, she still couldn't drown all the noises. It took too much effort and after a long, draining day, she was lucky to be able to hear them from where she was.

The person outside suddenly glanced to the diner and Clara knew that he was looking at her. She didn't look away, afraid that if she looked away and back to them, the man would be there inside the diner. She could feel her heart beat picking up and her grip on the table becoming deadly, losing feeling in her fingers.

The man was the one to look away first and Clara forgetting about everything, took the opportunity to leave, not caring if she didn't finish. She grabbed her coat and quickly slipped out of the diner by the back door, not looking back once.

Maybe next day it would be different.

* * *

They were seated in a car, parked two blocks from the Charming diner. It was middle of the afternoon and from their place, they had a great view of what was going on inside. They went to the diner almost every day for the past week, to the great annoyance for the woman.

"Are there more? Or just her?" the woman asked, bored out of her mind and glanced at the man next to her with utter resentment. The man ignored her heated stared and shrugged.

"Even if there was more, I don't want them. I want her."

"How did you find her?"

"I wasn't looking. I just found her, stumbled would be the right word."

"You don't like diner food."

"I was thirsty by I'm glad I went inside. Poor child," he said but didn't sound sympathetic. "Forced to work at a young age. And then the orphanage. It's ugly where she lives in. And terrible clothes she has."

"That's called being an orphan," she said flatly.

"Yet, somehow, she's happy." He hummed, drumming his fingers against the wheel thoughtfully. To be honest, he was slightly impressed at how she manage to turn a horrible life that she had into something happy.

She truly was something special but that wasn't what he cared about. It actually worked in his favor that she was an orphan. He saw what she could and that was without any guidance. Imagine what she would be capable of when she was pushed to the right direction.

Clara Welsh would be his prized trophy. It was no secret he liked shiny things, glancing at his beautiful companion.

She, on the other hand, did not look pleased, at all. They were wasting their time with a child. For God sake, the child had nothing in her chest. She could pass as a boy if it weren't for the long hair and the skirts that she wore.

"Isn't she young? She just turned thirteen, that's basically a baby."

"I know. That's why she should be with us. She has no idea what she can do. And if someone else found out they would kill her. I saw what she can do. It's very useful. Almost like yours but not quite."

He tapped her head and the woman bristled, not happy that she was being compared to a naive child.

"Can we really afford to take her? We're not charity. That's what her orphanage is for. To pick up the unwanted."

"And we can't afford to lose her," the man assured her, waving her worries off. "We _need_ her."

"You seem to know a lot about her," the woman said, looking at him suspiciously. "How long have you kept tabs on her?"

"Don't worry, I got her file and, trust me, I found very useful information from her. She'll do what she's told."

The woman looked at him suspiciously but didn't question him. She's learned from a long time ago that he always knew what he was doing.

"She's noble," the woman admired begrudgingly. Having observed her the last few days, she had picked up on Clara's personality. She was friendly, devoted but kept her distance, almost like she was hiding a secret. She smirked, almost finding it amusing. "She's naive which works in our favor. And desperate, so she'll listen."

"Of course, she will. She's desperate to know what is happening with her. And all alone, no one wants to talk to her."

"But how do we get close to her? She's either in school or orphanage or that job of hers. She's never alone. Except now, there's practically nobody in the diner. Hold on, we're not ambushing her right now, are we?"

"Of course not," the man dismissed her. "Don't worry your pretty head about that. I already have a plan. By the end of the week, she'll be by our side."

"What if she doesn't want to? Do we force her?" She felt pity for the child, knowing that if she dared to against them, she would not have it easy. She hoped, for the girl's sake, that she was smart and picked carefully.

"We don't hurt our own," he reminded her, making the woman huff in annoyance.

"But she's not our own."

"No, she is," he disagreed, his eyes never leaving Clara. She was passing the orders to the customers and giving them a wide, genuine smile. She was such a pretty girl, he noted and broke his gaze to glance at her birth certificate. The golden ticket to get her to join them.

"But you're right, she not one of us. Not yet. If you excuse me, I'm off to get a cup of coffee. Would you like some?"

* * *

 **So, who could that be (but you should know, I was a little too obvious, haha)? Does Clara have a stalker? Next chapter (hopefully, we never know with my creativity) is going to be the last of the fifties before we go to a more familiar decade and I think you're going to like what's gonna happen. Some familiar faces for sure are going to show up next chapter and after that and that and, well, you get the point.**

 **Thanks for everything, it means a lot how much people seem interested in my slow story but it will pick up, like next chapter. Anyways, if there are any errors, like always, I'll look it over and fix it.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own X-Men or anything Marvel, just my ideas.**

* * *

 **Saskia: _Well, happy birthday, hope you enjoy it. And like always, thank you for reviewing. I'm glad you like Sean and the background I gave him, he was interesting to write. I wanted more of him in the movies but unfortunately, we didn't get much, so my imagination will have to do. And Ms. Miller is a strange one, isn't she? That's cool you're studying physics, so I'm glad you liked me putting some physics in the story. Thank you for the awesome feedback, like always :)_**

 **Katniss: _Thank you so much, I'm so glad you think this story is amazing and that you find Clara's mutation intriguing. And well, this chapter you got to see how Sean's and Clara's relationship is. But don't worry, Sean is definitely going to impact Clara, maybe not now but... ;)_**


	6. One of Us

**Hello there to all the people who are still reading! This took a really long time, and I apologize. I didn't want to take this long, but unfortunately, life happens. Anyways, I'm so excited and after reading the chapter, I think you** **will know why. Hint, introductions are made.**

 **Happy readings, but especially have happy holidays and a great new year, everybody. Hopefully, 2017 is a better year :)**

* * *

 **Chapter Six: One of Us**

* * *

 ** _"All it takes is a second and your whole life can get turned upside down."_**  
—Jodi Picoult

* * *

"Is that her? The mistress that you told me about?"

"Yeah, it's her, but I think the wife is prettier. I mean look at that girl. Her hair is so ugly."

"I know, and look at her clothes. It looks like she got them from an orphanage."

Not so subtly, Darla pointed to another one of the customers who sat alone near the doors. Clara suppressed a sigh from her spot and looked over her shoulder to check the clock. Only three hours left.

The great thing about the diner that Clara worked at was that it always closed early. Or at least for her it worked out. Most of the diner business happened in the morning and mid-afternoon. By the end of the night, the diner would be incredibly slow. At times only having three or four customers, forcing most of the staff to sit behind the counter and wait for them to leave so they could do the same.

Clara would be among them, sitting down on a footstool listening to her coworker's gossip about different people that would come into the diner. Apparently, almost everybody there had relationship problems (except the man with the suit, nobody ever mentioned him). At the beginning, they had tried to include her, but as Sister Karen had told her once that gossiping was not right and it spoke poorly of one's persona, she had politely declined.

That led to her be discluded from everything which didn't really bother her. Clara could still hear them gossip from where she sat and tried her hardest to pretend that what they would say about her didn't sting her (although, one time she accidently set the fire alarm, getting all of them wet).

When the diner would close at eleven, the employees would usually stay for about half an hour to clean off the disgusting stuff that customers would leave on the tables and floor, take out the trash and share the tips they made. It was obvious that nobody in the staff liked the last part. Because it was a one man job, everybody would pull straws on who would be the one to clean it up.

So for the third time in a row, Clara was left to close the diner. She should be flattered at the trust that the manager had for her, but she was more annoyed than anything. She would clean the tables, booths and place the chairs back into its place. The nuns knew that she would come home late but she should never be home before midnight or else she would be forced to quit the job.

In the dead silence, Clara heard the door jiggling. She sighed, knowing it was probably someone wanting to get inside. It wasn't the first time that would happen. People always ignore the darkness and the signed that said 'Closed' and wouldn't stop until one of the employees would order them to leave.

"Diner is close," Clara yelled over her shoulder, not bothering stopping from wiping a booth. "Meaning, go away. Or else I'll burn you," she said the last part under her breath and cracked her first smile since she was left alone.

The jiggling continued, making her roll her eyes in exasperation while she moved to the next table. The person on the other side of the door would get the hint after a while. She did hope it was soon, the sound was giving her a headache.

Clara was still having a hard time adjusting to noises, especially the ones that were unexpected. At times they sounded so loud, they made her drop to the floor in pain. Thankfully, years of praying helped her concentrate and ignore the noise around her.

Clara was relieved when the noise died, but she could still hear the person on the other side, not moving. She thought about going to the door and show them the sign. She never got the chance, because that was when she heard a strange whooshing noise and Clara slowed down in her scrubbing.

 _Thump. Thump. Thump._

The beat of a steady heartbeat. Someone was inside the diner, she realized and tried not to tense up. She heard the person move to the door and unlock it. One more person stepped inside, making two steady heartbeats. Suddenly everything grew loud in the diner. The buzzing noise of the refrigerators, the dripping faucet, the little mouse's living under the table, and Clara's breathing.

"Get out," she said calmly, not looking back. There was a low murmur she couldn't make up. That made her tense up. She gripped the cloth tightly and tried to keep herself from not losing control. They couldn't hurt her, she tried to convince herself. She had an advantage that they didn't.

"I want to talk to you, Clara," a smooth, male voice said.

"Get out!" she repeated, more forcefully. She could hear other people around, they were loud, but from the way the man was relaxed, something told her the people around were with him. This wasn't an unplanned ambush.

"Don't be scared, Clara."

"I'm not scared," she said automatically.

"Then why won't you look at me?"

Foolishly, she turned around and was surprised to see the man who always sat in the same booth and order the same thing. Like always, he was dressed in nice clothes. His hair was neat and trimmed. Everything about him was impeccable, the opposite of Clara. She always tried her hardest to keep her clothes nice, but it was impossible after being a hand-me-down.

"I know you," she blurted out. She stared at him, her mouth opening in confusion. What was he doing inside the diner? How did he get inside? Why was he looking at her like he knew her?

"I should hope so, I've been showing up to this dreadful diner for the past two months."

"Huh?" Clara tilted her head, confused about what he had said. She had only noticed him for the last month, and know he was admitting to been coming for a longer time. He took a step closer to her and that's when she reacted. There was a stranger, it doesn't matter if he had been a customer, who broke into the diner at night, and may want to harm her.

"The diner is closed. Please leave and I won't call the police," Clara said as calmly as she could.

The man didn't look bothered by her threat and simply smiled. "Let me introduce myself. My name is Sebastian Shaw. You can Sebastian or Shaw, whatever you want."

"You should go," she said firmly, but squeezed her cloth tightly, afraid of what could happen.

"I want to speak to you, Clara," the man, or Sebastian Shaw as he presented himself, said in a cool voice. "I promise you, we'll make it worth your time."

Clara had been overwhelmed with Shaw's presence, that she had failed to hear the other person heartbeat, who was inside the diner, hidden behind the shadows.

"We...?" she mouthed, and took a shaky breath, suddenly hearing them clearly. She took a step back when she saw the smile grow in Shaw's face.

Clara squinted her eyes, only seeing one person. She could still hear another heartbeat. There were two other people in the diner. Shaw smiled and glanced back to the other person who was hidden in the shadows. The earlier noise she heard in the beginning sounded and she turned her head to the left and that was when she screamed loudly. It was one of the most terrifying things she had seen.

It was the devil.

She shrieked when she saw that it was a person of sorts. She dropped to the floor and crawled away from it, but was afraid to lose contact with that thing in front of her.

"Azazel, don't scare her."

"Get away from me," she gasped and scrambled to get away. She felt someone pull her up and cringed when it was that thing, Azazel.

"Azazel..." Shaw warned.

"No, let me go," she shrieked and tried her best to not touch him. Azazel let her go quickly, not because of her screaming but from the look he got from Shaw.

"I'm sorry, Clara. He's not used to being around girls," Shaw lamented. She flinched at the dark look he gave Azazel.

"Right," the man drawled.

"Are you the devil?" she asked, the question directed to the man behind her, not in front of her. Stories that Sister Rosemary told her and Caitlin replayed in her head. She had made sure to tell them when Sister Karen was out of earshot. Karen made it clear that the children should not be told the sins of the fallen angel, and focus on the other ones.

"Some say I am." The man appeared in front of her and the wicked grin that he gave her unnerved Clara. She breathed heavily, her heart beating loudly. She looked around, realizing that she was not getting out of this one.

"What... is he?" she asked, looking at the red man uncertainly. She rubbed her thumb with her palm. She could lose control and could hurt him if she wanted to. But he remained in his spot, not speaking, just staring at her.

Shaw smiled, amused at her fear. "Azazel. Don't worry about him. He can't hurt you, can he?"

"I don't know," she said, breaking her gaze from Azazel and gave Shaw a wry look.

"You must be cold," Shaw observed suddenly, his eyes trailing her bare arms.

"Not really," she said, feeling the opposite.

He nodded and took a seat on one of the booths. He motioned her to come closer, but Clara stayed in her spot. She stiffened when she saw Azazel move towards her. Clara clenched her fist, trying her best to keep it together.

"I would like to speak to you about certain things," Shaw said.

"Couldn't you have done that earlier?" Clara looked at him coldly.

"I don't think you would have appreciated talking about your mutation in public. I mean, after all, the hard work you have done to hide it and then for it to be exposed. That would have been a shame."

Clara frowned, not grasping what he meant. "What are you talking about?"

"Take a seat," Shaw simply said, motioning the empty spot in front of her.

"Can you please leave?" she pleaded, silently praying that someone would show up and do something or make them two go away. "Both of you leave. I don't know what you are talking about, please leave. I won't tell that you broke in."

"Even if you did tell, no one would believe you. After all, those kind of talks could wind you up in am asylum."

Clara swallowed nervously, feeling helpless.

"You should really listen to me," Shaw said, his tone darker. "Like I said, it would be a shame."

 _"Stay still,"_ that voice said before she had left her orphanage. She still cried everything she thought about. _Not again,_ she thought, panicking.

Her eyes darted at the door that was wide open, letting the harsh air inside. Without hesitating, she ran towards it. She never made it past the door before Azazel appeared right in front of her and grabbed her arm harshly, his nails digging into her. She tried to push him off but he was stronger than her. Clara froze mid-slap when she saw that Azazel had a tail that was going up and wrapping around her throat.

"No, don't—" she started and when she finished, she wasn't by the door, but in front of Shaw. She gurgled, trying to beg him to stop, her fingers clawing at his tail. All her pent up anger came out and she grabbed his tail tightly and felt a satisfaction when he hissed in pain. He let go of her, his tail still burning from her touch. She stepped away from Azazel, refusing to touch him and covered her eyes, a loud ringing echoed inside of her, making her want to throw up.

"Silly mutant," Azazel laughed. Clara glanced at Shaw, who although had done nothing, did look displeased. It took her a second to realize that he was angry at Azazel and not at her. When his eyes met hers, he smiled at her, as if he was praising her. She scowled and straightened up.

"Will you listen to me?" Shaw asked again.

Clara's hand went to her neck, still feeling the sensation of someone crushing her windpipe. "Do I have a choice?" she asked.

"You did have one, actually. You could have left and we won't bother you. But..." He paused momentarily, not saying what everyone knew. From her early escape attempt, that was no longer an option. "I do hope you don't go. That would be unfortunate."

His expression remained light, his smile wide and eyes bright, but his tone made it clear that she should stay. She reluctantly sat down in on the closest booth, and not the same one as his, and placed her hands under the table, clenching them tightly. The red man appeared right next to her, sitting in the empty spot of the booth. She jumped, hitting her knees and falling back to the floor.

Azazel laughed, enjoying her skittish behavior. Shaw sighed, annoyed at both of them. Clara scrambled to stand up and smoothed her clothes. She threw Azazel a dirty look and sat back down. She was not going to give him the satisfaction of moving, but she did stay at the edge of the seat.

"Are you going to kill me?" she asked Shaw bluntly.

"Dear, God. Of course not, Clara," he said, chuckling. "Why would I do that? Mutants don't hurt each other. We are one. And even if I wanted to, I don't think I could. I know what you can do."

"I don't think you do." She lifted her chin. "How can I know that you're not just saying that so you can kill me?"

"Are you not trusting because your only confidant died?"

Clara felt like she had been stabbed in the stomach. "What did you say?" she gritted. "Are you talking about Ms. Miller? Did you kill her?"

"I know that a lot has happened to make you like this. Paranoid. Distant. Distrustful. But you don't have to be like that anymore."

"You don't know anything," she said.

"I know a lot more than you do, Clara. Which is why it would be wise if you listened to me. I have a proposition that you will not reject."

"Can't or won't?" she said flatly.

He smiled. "I like you. You're young and full of curiosity..."

"You are disgusting if you are interested in me. It's a horrible sin that you will pay for," she said coldly, feeling repulsed all over her body. She felt crawling out of her skin, realizing what was going to happen.

That made Shaw laugh. "My dear, I'm not interested in you that way. But I do agree with you at one point. I do have an interest in you."

"I don't care what it is, I have no interest in you."

Shaw hummed, disagreeing. "Don't say no yet. I _know_ that once you hear what I have to say that you'll change your mind."

"Will it take long?" she asked, her eyes darting to the clock. "I have to be back to the orphanage. Not that you care, but I am not allowed to stay late talking to strangers that threaten me and might possibly murder me."

Clara jumped when Azazel laughed, even it was for one second. It was loud and unexpected. She glared at him, as much as she could without looking at him, but she knew he got the point.

"Should've brought Emma," she heard Shaw sigh under his breath. "I'm sorry," he told Clara, giving her what was supposed to be a sincere smile. "Azazel seems to be forgetting that mutants don't harm each other."

"What did you just called me?" she demanded, already heard that word from him.

"That's what you are. What I am. What Azazel is. We are the children of the atom. Radiation gave birth to mutants. We are mutants," he told her solemnly. "And mutants should stick together. The world here is a dangerous place for a lone mutant, especially if they are so young and naive like you. I want to protect you."

"What the hell is a mutant?" She already hated the word. It sounded horrible.

"You don't have a clue?" Shaw asked, looking slightly surprised. Clara simply stared at him. Shaw then went to explain to an inpatient Clara about what a mutant was and what they were capable of. She listened to him go on how certain people, like him and her, were born with abilities and how at a certain age they would show up. He explained different aspects of them, the perks and dangers of being a mutant.

Clara, despite her resistance to him being there, was fascinated with everything he was saying. It was nothing compared to what she had found in the books in the library. She had no idea where he got all the information, but the confidence in his voice and how steady his heartbeat was, Clara believed everything he said. It wasn't until he got to the part of the dangers of a mutant being alone, did she interrupt him.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because isn't this what you wanted? To know about yourself?"

Clara could only stare at him. The way he spoke was as if he knew her and maybe he did.

"What makes you think I am like you?" she said.

"Because despite what you think, you're not different," he said. "You're like everybody else. You take part of a system where you will always be the same. The only small difference that you are a mutant. And you're parents didn't choose to abandon you, they died. Didn't they?"

She stiffened, a little nervous that he somehow knew about her history. She hadn't spoken to her parents in years almost ten years. He looked at Azazel and nodded to him. She flinched when he disappeared, leaving a red smoke, and after blinking a few times, Azazel returned making her do the same thing. She failed to notice him slide a file to Shaw.

"Your name is Clarissa Amelia Wechsler?" he asked.

"No," she told him, rubbing her eyes, annoyed how the smoke disoriented her momentarily. "My name is Clara Welsh. Not Wechler or whatever you said."

He tilted his head to the side. "Really? That's not what your birth certificate says. And I am positive that Wechsler is a Jewish surname."

Clara looked at the file and without asking permission, even though she shouldn't have, seeing that it was her own, she snatched it from Shaw's hands. She squinted, trying to read the small words in the darkness. Her stomach twisted into knots when she saw that he was correct. She had no idea that was her full name. She never assumed that Clara was short for anything. Now she saw that it was short for Clarissa and her last name was different from the one she was told that was hers.

 _Clarissa Amelia Wechsler,_ she thought bitterly. That was her name, but her last name was not Jewish. She was not one of them. She wasn't who Shaw thought she was.

"Aren't they still killing them?" Azazel spoke up, his eyes trained on Clara. She ignored him but took a shaky breath, her blood boiling which was not a good sign. "Is it getting hot here?" he asked to no one in particularly and Shaw ignored his comment.

"You know, it's so ironic," Shaw hummed.

Unable to help herself, Clara asked tiredly, "What's ironic?"

"You're Catholic when you weren't born one," Shaw said, his eyes trained on her small cross. It had been a gift from the nuns when she arrived the orphanage. She had no idea what it had been until they explained it to her and ever since that day, she never took it off, a reminder of the first gift she ever received.

She blinked, and touched it, feeling defensive at the whole situation. "What?"

He laughed, amused at how naive she was. "A Jewish who prays to a God and other Gods."

She felt stupid and saying the same word over and over again. "What?"

He laughed again and wasn't the only one. The other one made a sound that sounded like laughter. She flinched and edged slightly more from him.

"If you are suggesting that I am Jewish," she said slowly and flinched when she said Jewish, hating that he was associating with those people. Those people who were hunted down and killed like their lives meant nothing. "Then I should say that you are wrong."

"Then I must be wrong that you're a mutant?"

"I-I am Catholic," she said defensively. "And me a mutant?" The word was strange but the more it kept going around her head, the more it fitted. She was a mutant. He was a mutant. Those people were mutants. Or so that's what Shaw was claiming. "You can do what I can do?" she asked, imagining him bursting into flames and his body turning solid obsidian.

"No. We're all special in our own way."

Hearing that made Clara feel warm, but she pushed that warmth away, refusing to trust him. He could be lying about everything. But hearing Azazel shift next to her, his tail scraping the floor, Clara knew that he wasn't lying.

"Your mutation has helped you a lot. I know you've noticed. You were a sickly child, always something. And now you are stronger than ever. Capable of so much, unfortunately, you don't know. You've only scratched the surface."

"I-I think you are mistaking me with somebody else," she stammered, pushing her file away from him. "I am not-I'm not what you think I am."

It frustrated her the look that Shaw and Azazel shared. They pitied her. "You can trust me," Shaw said.

"No," she said automatically. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because..." _you're a man,_ she wanted to say. _Men lie and cheat and hurt._

She was not accustomed to being near men. Most of her life, she had been surrounded by women and the men she had been her, had only done more harm than good. She rubbed her arm as a form of reassurance, although she felt none.

"You're one of us. I want to protect my own. No one will understand you but we will, we don't have a lot to lose, Clara. In reality, you have a lot to gain with me. Don't be afraid of the unknown, be more afraid of what you know."

"I'm not afraid," she said and that time was not in a whisper.

Shaw gave her the same unnerving smile and took a step closer to her, getting in her personal space. Clara noticed that he never took his eyes off her, and she couldn't look at him more than a few seconds.

"What exactly do you want from me?"

"For you to join us, simple as that," he said. She frowned. That's what he wanted? Did he go all this trouble for that?

"I can't do that."

"Why? It's not like you have a family," Azazel said snidely.

"Clara," Shaw said patiently. "What I just said is true. This is only a part of it. There is a lot that you don't know and that need to learn about your mutation. I want you to join me. You have no idea what is going to happen."

She remembered her skin bursting into flames, the cuts that were in her hands that Sean once had, the once dead bird flapping their wings and how she could hear the faint heartbeat of animals.

"Can I have time to think about this?" she asked quietly and when she saw Shaw nod, she relaxed slightly, knowing they were done for the night.

* * *

He gave her a week. Seven days before he would appear again with the red man and force her to make a choice. But she already had made her choice. She wanted nothing to do with him. She only wanted time away from him because everything about him terrified him.

Clara didn't leave the diner right away as much as her brain wanted to. She was afraid that if she left the diner, they would be outside, more of Shaw's followers. Clara stared at her hands and traced her hands lightly, imagining of all the scars that should be in her body if she didn't heal.

Clara would have been dead, she realized. She had been hurt so much in her life. Whether by accident or on purpose. She lost count how many times she had seen blood drip from her finger, nose of mouth. Her mutation had saved her. She wrinkled her nose at the new word.

"Mutant," she said out loud for the first time and was surprised how natural it sounded.

 _You're afraid, that's normal. But it's not normal to always be afraid._

Those were the last words Shaw said to her before he disappeared with Azazel. The left the same smoke that had left her disoriented. Clara had already made up her mind, she was not leaving with a man who not only threatened her but hurt her in a span of a few hours. Clara had a home where people worried about her and gave her what she needed. Why would she ever leave it for the unknown?

Walking home, Clara was joined by another of the kid from the orphanage that was coming back from their job.

"Hey," he said, and Clara realized the kid was Ron. "How was work?"

"Terrible," she croaked.

"Tell me about it. Thank God tonight is over," he said. After that, they walked silently, side by side, not having anything else to talk about. Sister Rosemary, like every other night, was waiting at the door for the rest of the kids that had jobs to come back.

She was stopped at the door, Rosemary looking down at her. "Clara, what happened to your neck?" she asked.

Clara's hand went to her neck, not realizing that Azazel left a mark. "I got caught in one of the cook's aprons," she lied.

"Be careful, Clara," Rosemary said lightly.

"Is the last name Wechsler Jewish?" she asked bluntly. Clara swore she saw Rosemary tense, but couldn't be sure.

"I don't know," Rosemary stammered and Clara ignored how strange she sounded. "Why on Earth would you ask me that?"

"No reason." Quickly, Clara slipped into the house, not wanting to go into the conversation further. She decided to shower in the morning, physically exhausted of everything she had done that day. Her friends were awake, all huddled in the corner, whispering. They quiet down when they heard her open the door.

"Clara," May whispered. "Hi. Come over, we want to show you something."

Clara gave her a tired smile and walked over to her bed, sitting down. "Tomorrow. I'm really tired."

"It's a letter from Naomi," Caitlin said bluntly. Clara internally sighed, and stayed where she was. She discarded her sweater and apron.

After Naomi had left, she had sent a letter about a month after her departure, explaining that Sister Karen had been looking for her second cousin for a while, and when they found him, he had offered to have Naomi move with him. Naomi had agreed happily, but the only problem with moving with him and his family was that he lived in Tennessee and he couldn't go all the way to Chicago to pick her up.

That was the reason there was a rush of plans for Naomi to go with her cousin or uncle as he apparently wanted to be called. The discretion was because the nuns had to bend a few of the rules to have Naomi join her family.

"Come on, come on. We still haven't read it, we were actually waiting for you. Come on," May insisted, patting the empty spot in front of her.

Clara stilled and cocked her head to the side. Curiosity taking over, she walked over to them and went on her knees. She was in between May and Caitlin.

"You're so warm, Clara," May sighed in content, going closer to her. "And you just came from outside, how is that possible?"

Despite the cold that would come at night, Clara never felt it. She was always warmed, and during the summer, she had heard the complaints of her roommates. They didn't understand why their room was sweltering hot at night when it usually was only warm if they closed all the windows to preserve the temperature.

 _They're not complaining anymore,_ Clara thought grimly, the weather feeling like it was winter already. Even Caitlin, despite her anger towards her, leaned closer to her, desperate to warm her frozen hands.

"Warm body," Clara said wryly and tugged at May nightgown. "What did Naomi say?"

In the darkness, she could feel May beaming. " _'Dear friends,'_ " she started.

"Wrong letter, I guess," Caitlin said, but got shushed by May.

" _'I'm so sorry that it has been awhile since we've communicated, but sending letters from the middle of nowhere is really hard. Everything is good here in case you're wondering. It's not the same as Chicago, but it's not horrible. Just really boring. My uncle is working hard and at the same time making me work too. Good thing that I like the cows and roosters. Anyways, how are you guys? What is happening? Has anybody said anything about me? How's school? Are you growing your hair out May? Are you ever going to cut your hair, Caitlin? How's your job, Clara? I miss you guys, Naomi.'_ "

May squealed in delight, clutching the letter tightly against her chest. Her smile was so wide it hurt Clara by just looking at her.

"I thought he was her cousin," Caitlin frowned and snatched the letter to read it. May frowned and scooted over to her.

"Last letter, Naomi said he liked to be referred as Uncle Kev," Clara reminded her and Caitlin ignored her, her forehead creased as she concentrated. "Didn't it say that, May?"

"Who cares?" May said, oblivious to the tension from the other girls. "She wrote to us. I hate that she can't write to us that often."

"At least she writes us," Clara offered. "Her uncle is nice enough to drive an hour to the post office."

"Because it's on his way to the market," Caitlin said icily.

"No, it's not. The market is closer," Clara shot back. "Naomi write in her last letter that he has to drive more to get to the post office."

May nodded and gave her a bright smile. "That's true. Hey, by the way, how was work today?"

Clara stiffened at the mention of the diner and was thankful that it was dark so they wouldn't be able to see her grimace. "It was... boring," she said carefully. "Nothing new. Same old, same old."

"I should get a job," May said wistfully. "Others are getting jobs. I heard Ron and Jonathan are delivering the newspaper to a rich neighborhood."

"More like stealing it," snorted Caitlin. Clara shot her a withering glare. Caitlin shifted in her seat, pretending to not feel the heat from the other girl.

"I can ask in my job if they need any help," Clara said. May grinned at her. "They might be needing help." Clara paused when she realized what she said. They didn't need any more staff, but if Clara left, they would need someone to cover her.

"Really? That's wonderful. Imagine if the both of us worked together?" May said. "It would be so much fun."

"I'm sorry, but I'm going to bed," Clara said, getting up fast and going to her bed. She couldn't think about the future at the moment.

"Clara..." May's soft voice called.

"Leave her alone," Caitlin said. "She's tired."

That night, Clara had the same dream. Mud, rain, being all alone, the light. She woke up early in the morning, her skin full of sweat. The dream didn't fill her with the familiar dread, instead, she felt a strange anticipation. Maybe that dream was preparing her for the storm that would soon come.

* * *

The week passed like a blur, and it wasn't until halfway through when Clara realized what Shaw had done. What if he gave her time to make her more paranoid and when he showed up, he would actually kill her?

At the orphanage, where she should have felt safe, it seemed the opposite. Clara knew that Azazel would appear in her room because every morning in her desk there was something new. A dead flower. A can of corn. And one time a bible that turned out to be from the Jewish. She would hide it quickly, but not fast enough, Caitlin would always look at her questioningly. That made her not be able to sleep for the rest of the time, afraid that Azazel will strangle her in her sleep. He didn't strangle her but made her paranoid and that was worse.

Sister Karen had even yelled at her for not praying during one dinner. That had earned her looks from everybody from the orphanage. She had to clean the table and she swore she saw smoke appear when she turned around. That wasn't the only time she felt like Shaw was doing something to tamper with her choice. Every time someone did something that seemed out of the ordinary, she would look at them accusingly, knowing that they were working with Shaw. The only thing she received were strange looks and at times insults. The girls in her school could be really mean.

At her job, Clara couldn't help and glance at the booth were Shaw would sit. He wasn't there, as he had promised. She would stare at the booth, recalling the events of that night. Everything was still fresh in her mind, and the more she thought about it, the more what Shaw had said made sense.

He hadn't been lying, every time he spoke, he told her the truth. She could hear his steady pulse and how clear he sounded when he spoke. As crazy everything sounded, she believed him. He was like her, and he wanted to help her. She needed the help, it was made clear when he ambushed her without a struggle.

The whole situation was ridiculous. Being back in the dinner, she would remember that night and it made her feel the same emotions. But having an entire week to think about Shaw's offer, her initial decision didn't match her current emotions.

On the last day, Clara had woken up late, almost all the children were eating breakfast, from the sound of it. May was gone, Clara could hear her downstairs laughing loudly at something a girl said. Caitlin, on the other hand, was still there, forcing her frizzy hair into a bun.

"Hello," Clara said, giving her a cautious smile.

"Hi," Caitlin forced herself to say. She went back to her business and when she finished, went to her bed to put on her shoes.

 _You don't have a lot to lose, Clara._

"I'm sorry," Clara said, surprising herself and Caitlin. It was like a damn broke, and she couldn't stop talking. "I'm sorry. I honestly don't know what I did wrong to make you so mad at me, but I do know it was something."

Caitlin stared at her, her gaze not softening. "You don't know what you did?"

"Does it matter?" she sighed and got up from the bed. "I know you. You take everything personally as if the problem was you. Well, it's not. I haven't do anything to you. I'm not the problem."

"Are you saying that I'm making a big deal out of nothing?" That seemed to anger Caitlin. "Really? Do you think is that suppose to make things better? That's it! That's the problem! You think you've done nothing. You've pushed everybody away for some reason and when we try to help you, you ignore us. Everything's your fault."

Clara felt like her soul was being crushed. She just wanted to make it right with Caitlin, to prove wrong that man. But everything he had said was coming true. She was trying to make amends. Clara was growing desperate, knowing she had a short amount of time before everything changed, but Caitlin didn't know that. Without another word, she grabbed her clothes, deciding to change in the bathroom.

She heard Caitlin mutter about how crazy she was and that it was her fault. Clara waited for her to storm downstairs before she changed. Despite being in the middle of an argument, Clara made sure to pick up her nicest blouse, the only one that didn't have a hole in the sleeves, and her smoothest skirt. She wanted to look her best that day, whether or not something happened.

Clara for the rest of the day looked at everything carefully. To look at the small things in her life that she never gave a second glance. The street sign in front of the house, the cracked sidewalk, the sour smell of the school. It was all familiar, but those weren't the details she notices.

But the closer she looked at her life, the more she realized that she didn't have everything.

Her food portions were small because they nuns couldn't afford more food. Her clothes were old and thin because she would get the hand me downs from the older kids. Her friends didn't really talk to her because she had slowly been shutting them out. Her desk was squeaky and any moment would break because the desk was probably older than she was. Her manager would always put her on the bottom, forcing her to take the worst tasks because he considered her incompetent.

When school ended, Clara realized that her time was up. She was walking to the orphanage to change her clothes. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, she fidgeted and smoothed her skirt. The door opened and Caitlin froze.

"Oh. Why are you still here? You're going to be late," she said flatly.

"I know. I'm going," Clara said and hastily put her hair in a ponytail. Clara washed her hands, drying them quickly. Caitlin stopped her by the door, taking a step back to look at her. Clara took a step back, feeling trapped.

"What is up with you today?" Caitlin eyed her suspiciously, stepping into the bathroom. "Clara..."

Clara sighed at her cold demeanor, more irritated than upset. She had given Caitlin her space to get over her anger but time only seemed to fuel it.

Caitlin tried again to talk to her.

"I don't care," Clara interrupted her. "I tried a few times, but I guess I couldn't. I have to go, anyways. I'm going to be late."

"Clara, stop. I need to say something. Don't leave."

"I have to go to work."

Caitlin grumbled under her breath before she said, "I'm sorry." Clara blinked, taken aback by the apology. Caitlin hurried to explain herself. "When Ms. Miller died I wanted to help you, but you pushed me away. And, like you said, I took it personally. And then I felt bad, but you seemed to act like you didn't care, so I got mad that you didn't say anything. So sorry."

 _Liar,_ Clara realized. She was lying. She didn't mean what she said. But Clara couldn't say that she only nodded. Caitlin apology added a weight to her chest. She had no idea if she was only saying that to make actual amend or because she was guilt into apologizing. "Yeah, I'm sorry too."

Caitlin hesitated before, she did the same thing. Clara had to fight the urge to throw herself at her and punch her for being a terrible friend. Instead, she gave her a weak smile.

"I'll see you later, Caitlin," Clara said and ran out of the bathroom, even though she was already really late to her shift.

"Claire!" Steve yelled at her. She jumped and looked over to him, seeing him glare at her. "What are you doing? Get over here and start taking orders!"

She frowned and shook her head.

"Claire!" he yelled again. "Get over here!"

"It's Clara," she said shortly.

"What? What did you say?" he said. He got distracted by one of the cook's from behind the bar and dismissed her with his hand carelessly. He didn't care anymore. "You know what, forget it. Just get over here and start taking tables, we don't have time."

"My name is Clara, and I don't want this job anymore," she said, but no one was listening to her anymore, and went to the kitchen. She bumped into Darla when she was going to the back door.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm taking a break."

"Fine, but be back in fifteen, we need you," Darla said distractedly. Clara wanted to tell her not to count on it, she wasn't coming back.

Like always, she kept it to herself and walked out of the diner, feeling a small weight disappear. She had no idea where to find him, Shaw, but she would walk all day and night until she was with the people who would understand her.

 _No one will understand you but we will, we do_

The streets were mostly empty, at times cars would pass by, but for the most time, Clara was all alone. She had no idea where to find the Shaw. He never said where he would be. She could have waited at the diner and hoped her would appear like he did last week, but with her nervousness, she knew she couldn't wait a few didn't stop until she reached an empty alley and slipped inside. Clara leaned against one of the grimy walls and buried her face in her hands, trying to collect herself. She did not want Shaw to see her fall apart because of him.

Maybe it was because she was afraid she would regret everything. Clara tried not to over think her decision, fearing that once she was with Shaw, she would regret it and would not be able to leave. Despite what Shaw had assumed, she did have a lot to lose. She had friends, school, her job, church, and herself.

She cared about people thought about her and dread to think about what they would say when they found out she disappeared. She already overheard the nuns discussing her mental state and had cried for an entire night when she heard Sister Karen suggest to take Clara to a hospital. It really was difficult for Clara to explain why she been crying to a concern May and Caitlin.

Clara felt her chest tightened and forced herself to stop at the nearest empty ally and slipped inside. Clara leaned against one of the grimy walls and buried her face in her hands, trying to collect herself. She did not want Shaw to see her fall apart because of him.

"I'm not scared," she told herself. _You don't have a lot to lose, Clara. In reality, you have a lot to gain with me,_ Shaw words echoed. "I have nothing to lose. I am not scared."

"If you say so."

She saw Azazel, the man that looked like the devil. He appeared out of nowhere and that time, she bit her lip to stop herself from screaming.

"I'm not scared," she told him, remembering her previous thoughts, but her voice wavered in the end. _I'm terrified, I don't want to leave, but if I stay..._

To her chagrin, Azazel took a step closer to her and was close enough for his tail to cut her in the right arm. Blood seeped down her forearm, staining her skirt.

"Stop that," she snapped, not bothering to cover her wound. It quickly healed. She knew he did it on purpose, the malice glint he wore making her rethink her decision.

"He was right," Azazel muttered to himself, sounding slightly disappointed.

"About what?" she said and wasn't surprised when he didn't answer. She watched in fascination as he wiped his tail clean with the sleeve of his suit.

"I was hoping you weren't one of us," he said honestly. "We really don't want to deal with a child. But it looks like, we're going to have to get used to it. Emma's not going to be pleased. Shouldn't be surprised, Sebastian is never wrong when it comes to mutants."

"No, no. You don't understand," she said desperately.

"Clearly. I'm not insane like you."

"No, the whole idea of mutants is ridiculous. I mean look at you. You shouldn't look like that. I shouldn't be able to bring dead things back to life. And Shaw probably shouldn't do what he does, which I don't even want to know. This is not right. Why are we like this? What terrible things did we do in our previous life to end up like this?"

"I hear your parents were Jewish," Azazel said gleefully. As strange the entire situation, Clara realizes this was the first time she had openly complained about her situation without having to fear the consequences.

"This is..." She motioned between of them. "... is insane. It cannot be real. I mean, you could be the devil, and Shaw is just luring me to take me to an asylum. Why am I here? This could be a trap."

"Then why did you show up?"

She wanted to correct him and tell him that he went to her. Instead, she shook her head. "This is happening, isn't it?"

"It would be very stupid of you to leave," he said in a low voice, taking a step closer. "It may seem Sebastian gave you a choice, but he only gave you time for you to pick whether you go willingly or not. Sebastian has a plan, and you're part of it."

For the first time, Clara looked at Azazel directly. She still felt the same fear as she did the first time she saw him, but she told herself over and over again to ignore it. Somehow in the light, he was more menacing. He didn't look afraid that someone might appear and take a good look at him. That was what made her afraid of him; Azazel didn't seem to care about anything.

"Did it hurt?" she asked him, motioning his entire body. She wondered how old was he before he realized that he was starting to look like Lucifer.

"Nothing compares being burned alive," he said, giving her a knowing look. "Or so I hear."

She glanced at her hand and with a flex, her skin started searing as flames burst from inside and slowly turned into its hard state. It was only seconds before the flames started dying and got replaced with the magma. She watched him look at her with mild interest and disgust. It made her smile.

"It used to hurt so much, but now..." she trailed off. The burning didn't hurt anymore, or maybe she had come to enjoy the pain. She quickly forced her body to go back to normal, her skin slowly going stitching itself to its original state. "Are there more like us?" she asked timidly. "Like a girl?"

"Yes. Her name is Emma and she is going to make your life hell. I wouldn't trust her if I were you," Azazel warned. Clara nodded, not expecting anything else. "She's a mind reader. She can get inside your head and mess with it."

"I'd like to see her try," she muttered

He glanced down to his watch and pressed his lips tightly. "We should go. Sebastian isn't one who likes to be kept waiting." Azazel extended his hand and she was about to take it when she stopped, hesitating.

"Wait. Are we going to go to Shaw right?" she asked and from the look she got, she felt foolish for asking. "Is the teleporting going to hurt?"

Azazel simply grinned at her, his bright eyes taunting her, daring her to find out. Staring straight into his eyes, Clara reluctantly took his hand, knowing that she could have made a worse decision.

* * *

 **Shaw is here and he ain't leaving!**

 **So what do you think? I'm so excited about this, I am vibrating with excitement. I feel like this is the end of part one (AKA the introduction), and now we're moving on to part two, the more exciting and dangerous part of Clara's life. While I am going to do that, I'm just wondering if anybody is curious of wanting a small chapter, showing the Clara with the rest of Shaw group. If I were to do it, the chapter would be small, and then I would proceed to the large time jump.** **And because we're moving on, there will be a large time jump, to catch up to the events of the movie, right into the nitty gritty things.**

 **Thank you so much for everyone that has followed, reviewed and favorite. It means so much and I really am thrilled that people are interested and patient with my story. I want to do better in the updates and want that to be one of my resolutions for the next year.**

 **I don't know if I have mentioned this before, but in my profile, I tend to place updates about when I might update. So check that out if it has been a while since I've updated. (Also, if there are any grammatical errors, I will go back and fix them. There probably will as I now am numb with reading this over and over). Sorry for the long note.  
**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own X-Men or anything related to marvel.**

* * *

 **Ella: _Aww, thank you :) Hope this was soon enough._**

 **erthjdtrjbh** **:** _ **Thank you for the review :) Yeah, it's slow in the beginning, and I sometimes wished that more could happen. But I wanted to make point of showing who Clara was before the other stuff happened to her (you'll see later on). Although you don't have to worry, that's the last of the slowness. It's about to pick up like this chapter set everything in motion as you saw.**_


	7. Teenage Blues

**So, this chapter was getting really, really long. And for this story, I usually try to not make the chapters too long. And after thinking about it, I decided to make it into two chapters. This is kind of like part one. The second one will be shorter than usual but I prefer that than an annoyingly long chapter.**

 **But that means there will be a quick update (hopefully) for the next week which is always a good thing to hear for you guys. So be on the lookout for an update.**

 **I hope you enjoy this chapter, cause I know I do :)**

* * *

 **Chapter Seven: Teenage Blues**

* * *

 ** _"As a child, I felt myself to be alone, and I am still, because I know things and must hint at things which others apparently know nothing of, and for the most part do not want to know."_**

― C.G. Jung

* * *

 **December 1958**

 _"When the night ends, you're done. You've had enough time."_

Why did Clara get herself in situations where she would lose in the end?

Clara closed her eyes and rubbed her eyes, feeling a wave of exhaustion take a toll on her. It wasn't because of the lack of sleep; it was because of the overwhelming feeling that she had too much for her to do and had no idea how to do it.

She still had a few hours left to figure it out. It was enough time to make everything right. But the growing sensation was making her choke up and shut down. It wasn't the healthiest way to cope, but there was nothing she could do.

All she could do was drop grip her skirt tightly and closed her eyes, focusing on the sound of ticking clock that was by the front doors.

"You know, when I said I wanted to see you more here, I meant during mass, not two hours after everybody left."

Clara didn't have to open her eyes to know who it was. She had heard him a few seconds ago when he had stepped into the pew and sigh in exasperation when he saw her sitting all alone. Reluctantly, she pried her eyes open and gave the priest a tired smile. He went over to her and took a seat next to her.

"I'm sorry, Father," Clara apologized.

"It's been a while, Clara," Father Evans reminded her. "But I'm serious. Why is it whenever I see you here, it's not in mass?"

The reason was that Clara felt out of place going to church. Sebastian never said it, but she knew he didn't like it that she would go to church. She didn't belong there he had made it clear. She thought avoiding going to church would ease all those emotions she felt daily, but it didn't. She couldn't even be honest in a place that claimed to be sacred and accepting. Clara was terrified that if she ever admitted what was actually going on, her last tie to her old life would disappear, leaving her with nothing

Clara was terrified that if she ever admitted what was actually going on, her last tie to her old life would disappear, leaving her with nothing but a dark void.

So when Clara had discovered the church in this town about two years ago, she was drawn to it, searching for atonement. She had spent so much there, that Father Evans had taken notice of her presence and given her a role in mass. She helped out in the church for almost an entire years, until last year Clara abruptly stopped going to church.

She knew that drastic change had caught the attention of Father Evans, but she pretended to ignore his questioning looks whenever she chose to go to church. Which was why she preferred to show up hours before mass, allowing her to not completely give up church and a way to avoid him.

"Why haven't I seen you in mass?" Father Evans pressed on.

"Well..." Clara trailed off and laughed awkwardly. How was the nicest way to say that it was because it was the easiest way to avoid seeing him? But unfortunately, it would be pointless seeing that he had found her. "I'm very busy with work and life," she finished lamely.

"And school, I hope so, too," he said sternly.

"Right, of course, that too. Job, school, life. I'm trying to be involved in the church but... I get caught up. Like I said, very busy lady am I."

"Well, you must not be that busy if you found time to be here for the first time the last five months."

Clara had the decency to wince guiltily. "Yes, I guess you're right. Well, at least I'm here, Father."

"I see," Father Evans hummed. "Well, what's bothering you?"

"Excuse me?"

"People who have been avoiding church for a while and then appear out of nowhere is because they are burden with their problems. It seems people remember about their faith when they need something."

Clara glanced at the Father and hated the look like he was giving her. That look that gave her false hope that talking about her problems would make everything better.

It didn't. It only served as the reminder that she was running out of time, and needed to do something quick.

"Nothing out of the ordinary," Clara dismissed.

"Clarissa," Father Evans said, making Clara cringe in the inside. She hated whenever he would use her full name. "You would feel more at peace if you came here every Sunday, like you used to, not when things got too difficult."

Clara wasn't sure what to say to that.

"But I know you're not going to listen to me. So, I'm going to ask you; how's everything at home?"

"Things have been... unsettling."

That was the biggest understatement. She didn't when everything became too much. Was it when she agreed to spend more time in Hellfire club? When Sebastian brought in their newest member? When Emma became crueler towards her because of the new attention she seemed to draw?

But it was none of that. It was what happened a few days ago, that started wracking Clara. It tipped her over the edge, which is how she ended up going to the place she had been avoiding for almost an entire year.

From the corner of her eye, Clara could see Father Evans looking thoughtful and she internally panicked. She should have said that nothing has changed. She was going to draw unwanted attention to herself. Clara could see why Sebastian disliked for her to come to church.

"Would you like to tell me what happened? And, just as a reminder, whatever you tell me, I am bound to not say a word. You could be planning mass genocide, and I wouldn't be able to say a word."

Clara gripped her skirt tightly, her knuckles going white, and willed herself to breathe slowly. She couldn't afford to burn down the church.

 _It's okay,_ she reminded herself. _This is why you're here._

"I met a boy," she said carefully, "and I made him believe I was his friend. And I wasn't." She stopped and took a shaky breath, every fiber in her body hurting at the nasty reminder of her choices. "And for a while, I thought I was, but I wasn't. Because friends don't lie to each other. They don't hurt each other."

"Why did you lie to him?"

"I―I didn't have a choice. Everything between us was orchestrated. From our first meeting to me befriending him."

Clara couldn't tell Father Evans the entire truth. That the only reason she bothered to befriend the poor boy because he was a mutant.

"Is that why you're here? Because you lead a boy on?"

"I... I don't know," she admitted truthfully.

"You do know, Clara. _Why_ are you really here, Clarissa?" Father Evans pressed. She closed her eyes and for the first time started doubting everything. Could she really go through it? She had been so sure, but now, being in front of the one place she allowed herself to be honest, Clara wasn't so sure.

"I'm here too, I guess, to ask forgiveness," she finally said.

"For what, Clara?"

 _For what I'm about to do._

"Clarissa?"

"I don't know. Everything should be the right answer. I just need to know that I'm going to be forgiven for whatever I do because it seemed nowadays everything I do is wrong."

"Clara," Father Evans said gently. "You've always done what you thought was right. Whatever you choose to do, can be forgiven. We're humans, we make mistakes."

"Right, we all make mistakes," Clara said, nodding doubtfully, knowing that didn't exactly apply to her but appreciated hearing those words coming from Father Evans.

Maybe it was because Clara knew that in another situation that would have comforted her, but not that moment. What she wanted was someone to stop her. To tell her it was a stupid idea what she was going to do. To tell her that she was about to ruin someone's life.

* * *

 **May 1958**

Alex Summers had considered many times to do something stupid to get fired from his stupid busboy job. Like burn the pots or accidentally dump all the dishes on customers or hit the manager but knew that he would only get yelled at and add an extra hour to his shift.

Alex hated his job and especially hated how his parents thought this job would put him in the right direction. Nothing he did would change him, and both, he and his parents, knew that. They were just in denial, pretending what Alex did back in Atlanta didn't happen and it was just Alex rebelling.

How is burning down two houses and sending six people to the hospital in critical condition an act of rebellion? He wasn't trying to make a point. Alex hadn't been doing anything at the time, and that's what made it worse.

He heaved sighed and dropped his fork, a loud clatter echoing in the kitchen. He had been eating lunch with his mom, and the reminder of his past mistake made him lose his appetite.

"Why did you stop eating? What's the matter, Alex?" his mother questioned him, looking him over. He literally couldn't do anything without one of his parents questioning his actions. He was glad that his father missed lunch or else he would have received double interrogation.

"Nothing," he mumbled and picked up the fork and started stabbing his food viciously with his fork.

"Alex, why are you angry? I simply asked you a question. Please stop that," she said and touched his arm, making him freeze mid stab.

"I'm not mad, Mom," he gritted and shook her hand off him. "I'm just tired. Can I be excused? I need to leave in a few minutes anyway."

His mom sighed and reluctantly nodded. "Yes, you should go, you don't want to be late. But please, don't be snappy when I ask you a question. I just want to know what's going on with you. You never tell me anything anymore."

Alex felt a flash of anger go through him. He knew that his mom was trying to be there for him, but what he needed from her and his dad was for them to stop hovering over him. He needed to figure out his problems by himself. And them being there, breathing down his neck was only going to make it worse.

"I have to go," Alex muttered and hurried up the stairs. In less than two minutes, Alex changed into his busboy uniform and was about to leave when his mom called out his name. "What, Mom?"

"Do you want me to drive you?"

"Mom," Alex sighed, gripping the door knob tighter. "It's three blocks away. I can go by myself."

"I know but it's warm outside. And, last time, you got lost, remember?"

Alex bit his tongue and turned to face his mom. He gave her his most patient smile he could muster which probably looked more like a grimace. "Mom, we've talked about this."

His mom sighed and nodded. "Yes, I know. But I was just offering."

"I'm going to be late."

"Alright, be careful. I'll see you in a few hours. I love you."

"Me too," he mumbled and didn't waste a second, going out of the door and practically sprinted to his job. Alex had to slow down to look at the signs. He still was not used to his new neighborhood. It felt like a maze, each corner taking him somewhere new. He was annoyed how many times he's gotten lost. One of the times resulted in him to show up to work a half an hour late.

In record time, he made it to his job without any accidents. Alex tried his best to not let his anger merge with his work, but it didn't work. He must have still been reeling over his mom's questions because he got called out by the manager twice.

Had he mentioned that he hated his job?

He glanced around the empty diner and slowly picked up the dishes, lazy placing them in the tray. Fridays afternoon were usually busy, but that night, it was practically empty. It probably was because of the weather outside. It had been raining for the past three days.

"Hey."

"What?" he said, more sharply than he intended. Wincing internally, Alex forced himself to relax and placed the tray on the table.

"Can you please clean table six?" Amelia Frost, the newest waitress, asked patiently, not fazed at his rudeness. When he nodded, she flashed him a thankful smile and went back to ask the table next to him if they needed anything.

There was something about Amelia Frost that made people's inside squirm uncomfortably, at least for Alex. Something about her unnerved him. She didn't seem to care that he was rude or that no one really liked him. She talked to him as if he wasn't a weird person.

His mom would have probably say that it was because he had a crush on her, which he did not. He didn't even like her. She was so... there wasn't a word to describe how Alex felt towards the girl, but it wasn't a positive one. His first impression of her was why did they need a new waitress? They already have too many, and it was only going to add one more useless waitress to the bunch.

Apparently, she had been working at the diner for almost three weeks. Alex hadn't noticed, but that wasn't surprising. If it didn't concern him, Alex never paid attention to what was going in the diner. Someone could literally be plotting the murder on one of his coworkers in front of him and Alex would be oblivious. He was getting paid to work, not be a hero.

So the first time they met each other, Amelia came onto him strong. He literally had to take a step back because of her intensity. She must have noticed his distress because ever since their first meeting, she's been more subdued in her chirpiness and only spoke to him when she needed him to clean a table, which worked well with him.

"Hi, I don't think we've been properly introduced, but I'm Amelia, the new waitress if I wasn't that obvious," the girl had introduced herself with a friendly smile to him. Alex looked at her, feeling a wave of panic. The staff from the diner usually ignored him, only speaking to him when they needed.

But not her. It was like she wanted him to be her next best friend. In that moment, all he could do was give her a shrug and go back to washing the dishes. She must have gotten the hint because she went back to waiting tables and didn't speak to him for the day. He couldn't say the same for the other days.

Alex did want to talk to her. He wanted to have his life back to normal. He wanted to hang out with his friends and play football. But he couldn't anymore. His parents, although never saying out loud, didn't approve of him spending time with others that weren't them. They feared that his 'temper' would get the best of him and force them to move again.

"Excuse me," an elderly lady called him, making him pause and look at warily her warily.

"Y-yeah?" he said awkwardly and cleared his throat. There was a reason he was a busboy. He was terrible with people. He either came across as rude or stupid. "Do you need something, ma'am?"

"We've been waiting here for ten minutes and no one has come here to give us the menu. Where are the waitresses? We're hungry," she complained, motioning to her and her companion. "Where are your waitresses?"

Alex tried his hardest to hide his scowl. He glanced around and the only waitress he could see was Amelia, who was talking animatedly with one of her customers. Alex looked back at the lady, still looking at him expectantly, and gave her a forced smile.

"Give me a second," he said hastily and walked towards Amelia. He had to call out her name three times to get her attention. She looked a little confused as if she didn't know who he was calling.

"Sorry, are you talking to me?" she said.

"Who else is Amelia?" he said impatiently.

"Oh, right, I'm not used to be called Amelia. I mean, usually go by Mia, so Amelia is new."

"I don't care what you're called. But I don't know where the other waitresses are, but that woman―" He pointed over his shoulder "―she was complaining that no one has attended to her. Can you go over there?"

Amelia looked over her shoulder and looked delighted. "Oh no. I'm sorry you had to deal with Ms. Teller and her wrath. She likes to exaggerate, she's probably been there for like five minutes. She usually sits on my side. I wonder why she sat there? Probably because of the view."

"What view?" Alex asked in annoyance. Amelia simply gave him a mischievous smile and purposely bumped her shoulder with his when she made her way to the woman. Alex tried not to think about what she meant by that and went back to counting down the end of his shift.

* * *

 **June 1958**

Alex didn't realize he knew Amelia's schedule until she was late a Friday afternoon. It probably was because, on Friday's, Amelia would take the right side of the diner, which was where Alex would clean up. So, he always was ready to pick up any dirty dishes left at the table.

"It's 5:15, where's Amelia?" Rob, their manager, asked, glancing around the pact dinner.

"She's late," Alex answered without a second thought. Amelia shift on Friday's started at 4:30 PM. She would always show up fifteen minutes early, hanging around the library that was around the corner from their diner.

"Why's she late?" demanded Rob.

It took Alex a second to realize that he was talking to him. He gave him a look of disbelief. "Why are you asking me?"

"You're her friend. Didn't she mention anything?"

Alex didn't have a chance to correct him that he and Amelia were not friends for Rob had move on to pick on his next victim. Alex grunted unhappily. What made Rob think they were friends? They've never had a proper conversation. He was always alone, and Amelia was always surrounded by her waitress friends.

"You're late," Alex told her shortly when she did show up. He wondered what was the whole point. She was going to be there for an hour and then leave. She shouldn't have bothered.

"Yeah," Amelia exhaled and nodded curtly. "Sorry."

"Why are you apologizing to me? Apologize to Rob, he's the boss."

"Dammit, Alex. What is your problem?" she cursed. That made Alex look at her cautiously. Amelia might have cut down her chatter with him, but she always had something to say than two words. That silent one was him. He was the one who would short answer. Alex did a double take when he got a better look at her.

Amelia looked terrible. Her clothes were wrinkled and dirty while her hair was all over the place. It was always in a neat braid, so it was a strange sight to see her hair covering her face. He noticed that her hands were clenched and her knuckles were scraped, with blood seeping.

 _Oh, my God. Was she attacked?_ Alex thought in horror. Their eyes meet for a brief second, and Amelia quickly looked away and pushed her hair from her face. That was a mistake. He could see a red mark on her forehead. He knew that those makes only happened when someone was hit violently.

"Um..." Alex tried to say something but was cut off by a frazzled Amelia.

"Did Rob tell you anything?" Amelia said, looking at the clock to their right. "Oh, shit," she said, sounding surprised. Alex was surprised too. He's never heard her curse before. He was seeing a part of Amelia that he's never seen before. "Wow. I need to apologize to Rob. I didn't realize how late I am..."

He bit his tongue, it wasn't his business. He knows better than anybody what it's like to not want people to pry into his business. Picking up his rack and just said briskly, "Hurry up. We're busy."

"Amelia! What happened to your face?" shrieked Millie, one of Amelia's friends. Alex paused momentarily, and then slowly placed the dirty plates on his tray.

"I fell in the snow," Amelia explained, dismissing her friend's concern. "I wasn't paying attention, and well, this happened. It's not that bad."

He shook his head and made his way to the kitchen. He was done for the day.

"Bye, Alex," Amelia called out from her table. He reluctantly stopped and turned to look at her. It was the first time he had a good look at Amelia since he first saw her, and Amelia looked like nothing had happened to her. Her hair was back into her usual braid, and her face showed no red marks. "Have a nice night," she said sincerely.

Despite what Rob thought, they weren't friends, but he was not going to be an asshole towards the only person in the diner that acknowledge his presence. Alex gave her a tentative smile, and said, "Don't come late again."

He glanced around and wondered what actually did happen to Amelia as he walked towards his home.

* * *

Now that little seed had been planted on Alex's head, the one where he and Amelia were friends, every interaction he had with Amelia, he would look it over. He wasn't given a lot to think about because they interacted rarely.

Once a month, on a Thursday, the would have a staff meeting at nine o'clock at night. The diner would close at midnight, but not everybody could be out that late because some of them had a bedtime at ten o'clock. Rob would close the diner for thirty minutes and go over any important development that happened.

Most of the time, Rob would spend the half hour complaining at anything that got broken and tried to create a new menu, but in the end, nothing would change in the menu.

Alex never paid attention to those meetings, and before it started, Alex let his curiosity towards Amelia take over. Taking a seat next to Connor, one of the busboys that he got along with pretty well, and hesitantly asked about Amelia.

Connor tilted his head and thought about it for a while. "Not much, actually. She doesn't talk much about herself. But I know that she doesn't go to school around here. I think she goes to an all girls school. I think that's what she told Millie. Oh, and she's Catholic. Which explains a lot. She's the only one of the waitress that opted to wear the long-sleeved shirts."

Alex's pressed his mouth in a thin line, annoyed at how little information he got. "Is that it?"

"Um, I think so. She's worked at a diner before, that's why Rob hired her cause she had experience. Other than that, there's not a lot about her. She's super friendly, but that's it. She doesn't talk a lot about herself." Connor stopped and grinned at him. "She's like you. Probably why you two are friends."

Again, with the word. Alex seriously needed to find a dictionary and look up the definition of friends. How could he be friends with someone he knew nothing about?

"Look alive everybody," Rob called out, clapping his hands to get the attention on him. Everybody's conversation went to a halt. "Now, that everybody is awake," Rob said pointedly and threw a napkin to Josh, one of the busboys that was resting their head on the counter and dozing off. "Can we have a round applause for Amelia. She's survived an entire month here and that's impressive. Come on guys."

Alex joined the scattered applause. Amelia looked uncomfortable at the unwanted attention and had her eyes trained at her stained apron, fidgeting with the edges. Thankfully for her, Rob quickly moved on and went on a long winded rant about good customer service and how many plates have been broken the past month and if they should add more desserts.

Alex quickly zoned out, knowing that he wasn't one of the culprits for being a few plates shorts. He focused on the checkered tiles and let his mind wandered. He tried to remember what his mom was making for dinner, but somehow all he think about was the fact that Amelia had been working at the diner for a month.

It felt longer. When he first met her, she had been there for three weeks, which meant he's known her for about six weeks. He let his eyes wandered up and stop at her. She was paying attention to whatever Rob was saying. For the first time, he wondered why she chose to work here, out of all the diners. Charmin's was small and never had a rush hour. It was always calm. It was relatively boring.

Before he knew it, the meeting was over and everybody started shuffling around. Alex shift had been over thirty minutes ago but had to stay because of the stupid staff meeting. Like every night, Alex took his usual shortcut. To not go around the block, he would cut through the dimly lit park.

That night was different because there was somebody in the park. That made Alex freeze. Usually, when he would pass through the park, it was empty. But, from where he stood, he could faintly see someone on the swing set. He glanced around, and reluctantly started walking, hoping that it was just someone harmless. He stopped again when the dark figure called out his name.

 _Holy shit,_ he thought, fear pumping through his veins. The unknown figure wasn't what was scaring him. It was the same tingling that had gone through him all those months ago before he destroyed that house.

"Do you always go to the park at night?"

It was then when Alex recognized the voice. It was Amelia but refused to let his guard down. Everything at night was different. Alex let himself relax when he finally saw her. What was she doing here in the middle of the night?

"It's dangerous being out here," Alex called out, started making his way towards her and stopped a foot away from her. Alex saw that she was sitting on one of the swing sets, swaying back and forth.

Amelia shrugged, not worried and continued swinging. "You're probably wondering what I'm doing here at night, all alone."

"That's one of the things. I'm also wondering if you're crazy and should I tell someone."

Amelia let out a loud laugh, which made Alex smile. "I might be a little crazy."

"That's good to know. But what are you doing here? This is the first time I've seen you here."

"I'm waiting for someone."

Alex frowned and glanced around the empty park and street. They must be the only people outside.

"Yeah," she said, noticing his expression, "but as you can plainly see, they are not here. Jerk. I told them to show up at 9:30, and it's 9:35."

"Maybe they ran into traffic?" Alex offered.

"Trust me that as―they didn't run into traffic," she said bitterly and started swinging more forcefully. "They're just being lazy."

"Well, I'm sorry."

"Hey, can I ask you a question?" Amelia asked, and Alex nodded. "Is Rob always like that in the meetings?"

"Um, if you mean talking about one broken plate, no. He usually focuses on that mold in the corner that never goes away. Today, I guess he wanted to mix it up. Which is a good thing because then he wants one of the busboys to clean it," Alex said, growing quieter as he continued.

"You know for someone that doesn't talk a lot, you're pretty funny," Amelia noted. His response was silence. "I get it. I was like that too. I didn't talk to anybody, but then one day, I started again. I was the old me… sort of. I can't be that person from before, but I still can be. If that makes sense."

"No, it doesn't," he finally said and decided to take a seat.

"Maybe one day you'll get it."

Alex glanced at her and wondered what happened to make her get back to his old self. He would really like to know. It would be nice to not have to second guess everything he said. Alex noticed that Amelia was a bit odd. She wasn't like the other waitresses from the diner. And he knew he wasn't the only person that thought that. He once had overheard two of the busboys talking about how she always fumbled over her stories.

"Want to sit down with me?" Amelia asked when she noticed that he was standing awkwardly in front of her.

"Oh, yeah, sure," Alex stammered and sat down in the swing next to her. They sat in silence, the only sound was the squeaking when they swung. Alex wanted to say something but had no idea what. He had very limited experience with girls. He would only spend time with boys, so trying to make a conversation with a girl was uncharted territory.

Right when Alex was about to say something, Amelia stopped swinging. He was startled when Amelia got up and stared ahead. Alex followed her gaze and squinted, seeing nothing.

"I have to go," she said reluctantly and brushed off any dust that got caught in her uniform. "Thank you for waiting with me, Alex."

"It's no problem," Alex said and waved her goodbye. He watched her disappear into the darkness before he got up from the swing set. He could feel himself dreading to go home. He was definitely going to get yelled by his parents for coming late.

Maybe that will make them let him quit.

* * *

 **July 1958**

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, Alex fiddled with his tie. He inspected himself, and noticing how crooked the tie was, he decided that he wasn't going to wear one that day. It was hot that morning and having something around his neck was going to make him pass out. Untying it, he threw it to the side carelessly.

Alex hated going to mass. He found it pointless and boring to listen to a man go on and on about something that made no sense. What made it worse for him was that his parents always went to the morning mass that was jammed pack with people. There were too many people squished into a room for his liking.

"Come on, Alex. We're going to be late," his dad called out from downstairs.

"Alright," he yelled and without checking if his hair looked presentable, Alex stomped down the stairs and joined his parents. The entire car ride, he had to deal with his mom scolding about how messy his hair looked.

Alex and his parents had shown up early, leaving them enough time to argue. Alex's dad noticed the way his son was slouching.

"Alex, can you at least try to look like you're paying attention?" his dad hissed, pinching his arm.

"I will if you stop pinching me," Alex said under his breath. His dad looked at him sharply. At the moment, Alex had no idea if he said anything else because that was when he noticed her. Her black hair made her stood out from all the gray haired people that sat next to her.

Alex cursed under his breath, not believing his luck. Out of everywhere, she could have sat down, Amelia was two pews in front of him. It was mostly empty, only about four people sitting in it. She was the youngest out of all of them, the rest of them all elderly.

It had been weeks since they last spoke. Job had kept them busy, and it seemed that Amelia didn't have to wait anymore for whoever would pick her up. They did acknowledge each other when they would bump into each other, but it never went further than that. He was actually disappointed she didn't make an effort for the small talk like she usually did.

As if sensing someone looking at her, she glanced over her shoulder, scanning the room. She paused when she spotted him and, like always, smiled at him. Surprising himself, Alex did the same thing. It wasn't completely genuine, but it was better than nothing. He could have glared at her like he usually did. He was slightly disappointed when she went back to looking forward.

"Who's that?" whispered Alex's mother. He jumped and internally groaned, forgetting that his parents were right next to him.

"No one," he grumbled.

"Alex, I'm just asking," Mrs. Summers said patiently, irritating Alex. He hated when she talked to him like that. Like she was trying to guilt trip him into doing whatever she wanted. "You don't have to give me that attitude," she continued. "There's nothing wrong if you know her."

"I know," he said and sighed loudly, quickly caving in. The faster he ripped the bandage, the faster everything would be over. "She's a waitress from Charmin's. She sometimes says hi to me."

"That's wonderful, Alex. I'm glad that you're befriending your co-workers," Mrs. Summers said brightly.

Alex looked at them suspiciously. His parents wanted him to act like nothing has changed, yet when he wanted to the things he used to do, they would come up with the most ridiculous excuses that wouldn't let him. Why couldn't they make up their mind, it would make things easier for Alex. He was exhausted by their constant whiplash.

Alex hoped Amelia couldn't hear them, but she was two pews in front of her, so he doubted. But he could never be too careful. His mother always somehow heard everything he said or did, no matter how quiet he was.

"Besides, I don't even know her name," Alex lied. He was grateful of the noise and that Amelia was sitting far away. He would die of embarrassment if she could hear his parents teasing.

"But that's alright. I didn't know your mother's name until I asked her to be my girlfriend."

Alex's mom swatted his shoulder. "John, stop it."

 _Yes, John, stop it,_ Alex thought miserably, sinking further into his seat. Thankfully, Alex's mother noticed his mortification and changed the subject, asking her husband if he remembered about talking to the priest after mass.

For the rest of mass, Alex stayed down, looking at the roof. But every so often his eyes would go down and observe Amelia. She didn't look back again, so whenever he would look at her, it would be the back of her braided head.

From his observations, he saw that she was wearing a simple, light blue dress with her hair in a complicated braid. He bet that his mother would have loved it. She had always wanted a daughter, but instead got a freak of a son. He wondered if Amelia's mother did her hair and looked around, expecting to see an older version of Amelia walking around.

Alex sighed in relief when his father tugged on his jacket to get up at the end of the mass, and the Summers quickly exited out of the church. Outside, His parents had found one of their neighbors and started chatting with them to Alex's chagrin. He didn't want to be outside in the sun with his uncomfortable suit.

"For your troubles," John told his son, giving him an old penny, and pushed Alex towards the fountain that was in front of the church. Grumbling, Alex walked to the stupid fountain, not thrilled. He wasn't five anymore, he couldn't be distracted by water anymore while his parents talked to their friends. He knew his father was trying to coax someone of his childhood excitement, but he couldn't anymore.

Alex had to push through the crowd that had gathered outside to reach the fountain. He was about to give up when he spotted it. His shoulders sagged in relief when he found it mostly empty, only a straggler sitting on the edge of the fountain.

He froze when he recognized the same braid he had been staring at for the entirety of mass. Amelia was watching the crowd pass her, her hand carelessly playing with the water. It seemed that she was waiting for someone, every so often she would straighten up but then go back to her casual position.

He couldn't believe how many times they ran into each other. Yet, there she was.

He wasn't sure whether he should approach her, but he decided to go back to his parents. It wasn't his fault that they kept running into each other. She looked up at the same moment he started backing up.

"I'm not doing this on purpose," she said lightly.

Alex surprised her again, with laughing. He shook his head and after a second of hesitation, sat down next to her, leaving a foot space between. She scooted closer to him and waited to see how he would react. His posture remained the same, but his heartbeat quickened at the lack of space between them.

"So," he said, trying to get rid of the awkwardness. "You like today's mass?"

Amelia laughed at his terrible attempt to start a conversation. "Oh, yes, I liked it. But it's been awhile since I've been to one, so my judgment might not be the best."

"No, i get it. Though I'm glad you liked it."

"I'm going to take a wild guess that you don't like attending mass?"

"It's not that bad. My parents just make it hard for me to enjoy it. What about you? Did you enjoy it because you came alone?" He winced when he realized how that that sounded. Like had been watching. "I mean, did you come alone?"

"Not really," she said, frowning for a second and then shaking her head. "I'm waiting for someone."

"Are you always waiting for someone? Who is it this time?" Alex teased.

An emotion flickered Amelia's face, but before Alex could pinpoint what it was, she said quietly, "My guardian."

"Oh… uh," Alex stammered, feeling his face warm up in embarrassment for no reason. So much for avoiding awkwardness.

"I'm early this time," she added. "So they're not being jerks this time."

"That's great. Really. Um, you know, my parents say that this is a lucky fountain," Alex said quickly. She gave him a grateful smile at the change of topic.

"Really? Why?"

"I don't know. But every time we go here, that's what my dad tells me." He frowned thoughtfully, looking down at his penny.

"Well, if he thinks it's lucky, then maybe it is. You never know."

"Maybe," Alex agreed and, without thinking, extended his hand towards Amelia. She raised her eyebrow, puzzled. "Here. Make a wish."

"No, I can't. It's yours," she refused.

"I've made wishes here every week. I should take a break. You can have it," Alex insisted. Amelia, still hesitant, took the penny from his palm. Her fingers grazed his hand and Alex tried to ignore the hammering in his chest when her too warm fingers touched him. He blamed his parents for making him hypersensitive about her.

"Thank you," she told him and held it up, examine the old penny with a small smile. Her cheeks had gotten red.

"What are you going to wish for?" Alex asked curiously. She broke her gaze and looked at him.

"Hmm. Give me a second to think of a good wish," Amelia said and flipped the coin in the air. She caught it without any trouble. Alex looked at her and she grinned in satisfaction, shrugging. "I just learned that trick. I saw one of the busboys do it and kept doing it over and over until I finally could catch it. I can already see Sister Rosemary's look of disapproval," Amelia said, sounding rueful.

"Who?"

Amelia blinked, surprised that he heard her and paused for a second. "This nun from the church I used to go," she said slowly. "I would always go to mass every Sunday, sometimes even on Saturdays. I practically lived in the church."

Alex's eyes widened in surprise. "Why'd you go a lot?"

She hesitated and then said, "I used to come from a very religious household."

"Not anymore?"

"No, not anymore. Things change. And I guess it was because of me. Everything had to change because of me."

"Tell me about," Alex muttered. Amelia gave him wry smile. Alex had been too focused looking at her face when he noticed her shift, he finally looked down and tried not to flinch. Her fingertips were the only part exposed and he could see painful looking blisters around them.

"What happened to your hands?" he blurted out pointing at them and winced. Amelia looked down to her lap where her injured hands laid and stared at them blankly.

"I burned them by accident," she explained.

"How?"

"I wasn't careful. I was being stupid at home." She shook herself and smiled at him. "But I hear I'm not the only one who isn't careful. Did you hear Eric's scream yesterday?"

"Who didn't hear him?" Alex scoff, remembering how everybody in the diner stopped and looked at the kitchens where the piercing scream came from. Rob had to come out and assure the customer's no one had been murdered. "That's the third time this month. I seriously don't get why Rob hired him as his cook since he spends more time at home resting his burns than working."

"Because he's his nephew? That's why he hasn't fired him."

"Are you serious? I can't believe it. I knew it. He's too young to be working."

"Look who's talking. Aren't you a little young to be working? How old are you? Ten?"

"Thirteen," Alex said hotly. "How old are _you_?"

"Sixteen," Amelia answered promptly. Alex visibly deflated, disappointed she was older than him. "Why do you need to work?"

"It's a way to keep me busy. My parents know the manager and they pulled a few strings to get me the busboy job. Besides, I heard you worked at diner when you were really young."

"True, I used to work at a diner when I was younger, but I worked hard and well, I got promoted to a waitress really fast. Probably because we were short staffed and no one really cares how old I was."

"Why did you leave? Was it because you moved?"

"Yes, that is one of the reasons. I had other things I was dealing with at the time."

The conversation continued, both of them talking about mundane things, trying to keep everything light. Amelia seemed delighted that Alex seemed genuinely interested in what she was saying. He tried not to let it get to his head, but he couldn't help and be pleased that she was interested in everything he was saying.

"You cannot criticize my last name when yours is Frost," Alex laughed when they got to the topic of their strange last names.

"Okay, okay," Amelia conceded. "I admit Frost is a ridiculous last name. If I could pick I would have chosen another one."

"I wish too. Summers and Frost are weird last names, what made someone think it was a good idea to chose those last names?"

"So that when a Summers meet a Frost, they would create chaos," Amelia said seriously.

Alex snorted, shaking his head. "You make this sound like we were meant to be."

"You don't know that," Amelia said, playfully shoving him. "We don't know a lot of things, so how can you say no to something you don't know?"

Alex didn't have a chance to respond because, in that moment, Mr. Summers walked up to them with a large grin. "Who's this?" he asked, motioning to Amelia.

"Amelia Frost," she answered cheerily, grinning widely, revealing her teeth. Alex noticed that she scooted away from Alex. He tried to ignore the disappointment he felt when her first reaction was to move away from him.

"Amelia Frost. What a nice name. Frost, hm... Are you related to Johnny Frost by any chance?"

"No, I don't think so," Amelia said uncertainly. "I don't have that much of a family."

"Dad," Alex interrupted. "What's going on?"

"Oh, don't worry," Mr. Summers said. "Just here to pick up my son. Come on, Alex, your mother is waiting in the car."

"Okay. I'll meet you there," Alex said, waving him off.

"Are you Alex's friends?" Mr. Summers asked Amelia.

"Dad, don't you have to go to Mom?" Alex said through clenched teeth, and when his dad made no movement, he took matters into his hands. He pushed himself up and gave Amelia an apologetic smile. "I'll see you later, Amelia," Alex muttered and pushed his dad away from her, feeling embarrassed.

"I told you, this fountain can work miracles," his dad teased.

"Dad," Alex groaned but wasn't really annoyed. He might have hated going to church initially, but seeing how things went, it didn't end up all bad.

* * *

 **So, I just realized that it has been more than a year since I have published this story, it's probably closer to two years now, and that is fucking crazy. I'm so proud of this story and although I haven't updated the story as much as I wanted, I still am overwhelmed with the response that I have gotten and I want to say thank you so much for the follows** , **favorites, and reviews. I'm sorry if you reviewed and I didn't respond.**

 **I'm also going to use this author's** **note to rant about Dunkirk cause I saw it yesterday and I need to let it out of my system. BUT OH MY GOD! That movie was amazing. I honestly have no idea how to explain how much I love it. I knew that it was going to be great because Christopher Nolan is an amazing director and writer. I seriously recommend this movie. It might not be everybody's cup of tea, but it was it's such an intense, fast paced movie that has on your edge of your seat, and not to mention, amazing visuals. Wouldn't hurt to watch it. I can thank this movie for motivating me to write this chapter.**

 **Anyways, going back to the story, if there are any errors, I will go back and fix it like always.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own X-Men or anything related to Marvel.**


	8. The Ugly Truth

**I'm sorry it took a little more than a week than what I promise, but, hey, at least it wasn't a half a year wait. I can say that it took longer to update cause I was making it longer, so I think the wait was worth it.**

 **Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy part ii of this chapter :)**

* * *

 **Chapter Eight: The Ugly Reality**

* * *

 _ **"Just because something isn't a lie does not mean that it isn't deceptive. A liar knows that he is a liar, but one who speaks mere portions of truth in order to deceive is a craftsman of destruction."**_

― Criss Jami

* * *

 **August 1958**

"Hey, Alex."

It was ridiculous how elated Alex felt whenever Amelia greeted him, which was almost every day so he should have gotten over it. But there he was, trying to not grin like an idiot and casually greeted her back.

"Hi, Amelia," he told her and dropped his backpack on the floor. He had barely arrived on time for his shift. "How was yesterday?"

"Oh, my goodness, where do I start?" She sighed in exaggeration and shook her head, making him smile.

"That bad?"

"I had rude customers. I got zero tips. I fell on my butt twice. The second time, it made the newest busboy accidentally dumped his dishes on me. I think I still smell like grilled cheese." Amelia wrinkled her nose and sniffed her blouse. "Wrong, I do smell like _burnt_ grilled cheese. You need to work on Wednesday. I missed you."

"Oh, um, thanks." Alex could feel his heart stutter at the casual comment. He liked to blame his hearts reaction to the fact that he wasn't accustomed on Amelia's affectionate words. He would always get flustered at her little comments that probably didn't mean anything. Alex would try to play it off cool, but he was so paranoid that he was positive that Amelia could hear every time his heart would beat faster whenever she spoke to him. She always got a funny look on her face whenever he acted like an idiot in front of her, which was always.

"Anyways, as much I missed you, can you clean up the table in the corner?"

"Sometimes I feel that's why you only talk to me," he grumbled.

"It might be one of the reasons," she said seriously and flashed him a grin before she went back out to start serving customers. Alex followed her and cleaned up all the tables. That afternoon, the diner was packed, having everybody busy. It wasn't until eight when things started slowing down.

Alex wasn't trying to eavesdrop but he was cleaning up a table near them and as the conversation progressed, their voices grew louder, making it impossible for him to not overhear.

"I'm not going to clean it," she said, her voice sounding irritated. "It's the men's bathroom. Send one of the busboys."

"They're busy."

"So am I," she gritted. "I'm waiting for five tables while―"

"I don't care," interrupted Rob. "People have been complaining about the disgusting mess and I need someone to clean it."

"Then make the customer who has been complaining to clean it. I am busy."

"Amelia." The warning tone in Rob's voice was what made up Alex's mind.

"I'll clean it," Alex blurted out. Both turned to look at him and Alex tried to not blush, realizing he just outed himself for eavesdropping. Thankfully, they didn't seem to care.

"Really?" Amelia said, looking unsure at his offer.

"Yeah, I just finished cleaning the counter and I have nothing right now. I can do it, you have these tables to wait."

Amelia beamed and gave him a wide smile, making Alex take a deep breath, trying to not give away how flustered he felt.

"Does that work well with you?" Amelia asked Rob. He nodded and Amelia left to attend the customers.

"Well, Romeo, get cleaning. You still have tables to clean," Rob said and thrust Alex a mop and a bucket of murky water, shoving him towards the disgusting bathroom. Alex held his breath when he stepped in to the bathroom, nearly gagging.

* * *

It was almost at the end of Alex's shift when Amelia found him. He tried to not be too close to her because of his stench. Rob hadn't been lying about the smell. He would probably be reeking of pee for the rest of the week, much to his chagrin. But hearing Amelia thank him made it more bearable.

"I owe you one, I mean it. Like you saved my life."

"It's fine," Alex dismissed her. She didn't believe him, raising her eyebrow in disbelief. "I'm serious. It wasn't that gross. It was just pee."

"Ugh, no. Even that is the worst." She wrinkled her nose and looked over his shoulder to check at the time. "I know you get off right now but are you in a hurry to go home?"

Now that summer break was over and school started, Alex had been ordered by his parents to go straight home after work. But it was Thursday, he could always say that there was a rush hour and he couldn't escape it. When he told her no, she beamed at him.

"Can you wait? I get off in a half an hour, and I want to give you something."

"Yeah, sure. I'll wait for you outside."

She grinned at him and tapped his shoulder. "Great. I'll see you soon."

Outside, Alex was reminded of the changing weather. He shivered at the cool breeze that appeared. It was cold, even if it was August and it was supposed to be warmer. But at night it was cooler than the day. He rubbed his hands together, trying to keep himself warm. Losing a finger was something he didn't want to happen. His life was bad enough, and losing a limb would make it worse.

Thankfully, Alex had to only wait five minutes in the freezing outside. Amelia rushed outside, wearing her coat and scarf.

"Thanks for waiting for me," she said, her voice breathless. "I mean it."

"It's fine," he said. "What did you want me to wait for you?"

"For this," she explained and handed him a small bundle that he took carefully. Alex sighed in relief at her unexpected warmth of her hands.

"What's this?" he asked, taking the bundle that she handed him. Alex felt a rush spread over him at the unexpected warmth of Amelia's hands. He knew she had been inside but she was too warm. "You're really warm," he noted.

"Sorry about that. I was by the oven."

"Hmm," he said, not fully convinced. He let it go because he was trying to identify what was he touching. It was too dark for him to make out the shape. He opened it and was surprised when he saw that it was money. "Are these... pennies? Why are you giving me these?"

"The first penny was for the one you gave me and the others are for cleaning the bathroom. Also, they're for being my friend."

"Friends?" Alex echoed.

"We're friends, right?" Her expectant look made Alex nod. "Well, that's what friends do. Give each other things for no reason."

"How did you get that many pennies?"

"I had to wait at the end of my shift to change all my tips for pennies," she admitted sheepishly. "But it's fine. I don't mind. I don't need those tips. Anyways, sorry for making you wait a long time for pennies. Now, you can make all the wishes that you want. Or not, you can do whatever you want."

"No, this is great, thanks," Alex cut her ramble and offered her a smile. "I'll definitely be using them to make wishes. This is a perfect thank you gift."

"I'm so glad you liked it," she said and looked over her shoulder. "I have to go. My ride is here. See you tomorrow, Alex."

Amelia sprinted away from Alex as he looked down at his bundle. He had no idea how many pennies were there, but it felt like a lot. He couldn't believe she gave him all her tips just because of one small favor he did.

"It's because we're friends," he said aloud and nodded to himself agreeing with Amelia. Who would have thought would have been the girl he first couldn't stand?

* * *

 **November 1958**

It was nice to have a friend again.

Before his incident, Alex used to have many friends. After school, he would go over to one of his many friend's houses and play football until supper. Every day he would go to a different friend's house and do something different. But now he rarely spoke to anybody who wasn't his parents or co-workers. So, having Amelia as a friend was welcomed.

Alex friends had always been a boy, never a girl. But now, his only friend was a girl, Amelia. He didn't really understand why he avoided girls. Amelia wasn't bad. She was nice and talkative. Yes, he couldn't play football with her, he couldn't talk about how nasty school lunch was, but he could talk to her about how shitty his day had gone.

And it wasn't just having her as a friend. It had been two good months. His new school has become bearable. He understood all his classes and was completing all his He started playing football with a group of boys during lunch. He was getting the hand of being a busboy and Rob was considering giving him the better sections of the diner. His parents weren't hovering as much as they used to, which allowed him to have stayed out more to hang out with Amelia after work.

That gave him an opportunity to discover one of the many strange quirks that Amelia had.

She didn't like to be touched unless she was the one initiating contact. She would get irritable for the rest of the day if that ever happened. One time, Alex made the mistake on shoving her playfully and she avoided him for the rest of the day. He tried to not take it the wrong way, reminding himself that she wasn't like his guy friends. That she was a girl and they didn't like to play around roughly.

But seeing her go the other direction whenever they passed each other, stung more than he wanted it too. He didn't want to lose his only friend. He was relieved when she apologized at the end of the shift, saying that she just didn't like to push around by people. He made sure after that to never make contact with her unless she initiated it.

She had a strange fascination with knowing about Alex's parents and his home life. He figured it was because she didn't have any parents. He never asked about her home life, remembering the few times they had touched on the topic the conversation had gone strain.

She was always unusually warm, even if was fifty degrees at night. She would wear a cross, hiding it under her shirt, but Alex had only seen her attend church once and when he asked her on why she stopped going, she claimed she was too busy.

"How are your hands?" Alex asked during his lunch break when Amelia stopped at the counter to drop off the remaining menus, glancing at her bandaged hands. Amelia claimed that she burned them, but how many times could Amelia burn her hands picking up a kettle pot. Seven times apparently, and that was for the ones he had seen.

"What does it mean when someone is getting hurt and they don't want to say anything?" Alex had asked his dad the previous day. He had grown worried at Amelia's constant injuries, that he wanted someone's advice. Amelia was his friend, and he should do something for her.

"Is there something you want to tell me?" Mr. Summer asked him seriously.

"No," Alex said quickly, avoiding his questioning stare. "I'm just wondering. Seriously, Dad, I was just asking."

"Well, then," Mr. Summer said, and thought about it. "Maybe it looks bad from your point of view, but you don't really know what's going on with them until you ask them."

Alex looked at Amelia expectantly, waiting to hear what she would say.

"Fine. Doesn't sting anymore. I can move them now," Amelia dismissed him and plucked one of his carrots, making exaggerated noises as she ate them. Not in the mood for jokes, Alex leaned over the counter and poked her palm causing Amelia to hiss and pull her hands towards her chest. "Alex," she snapped. "What have I told you? Don't touch them."

"Thought it didn't sting anymore?"

She didn't say anything, only threw him a dirty look and went into the kitchen to tell the chefs to change a customer's order.

"Amelia, come on. I'm sorry, don't be mad at me," he said but was blatantly ignored. He should be getting accustomed to Amelia's irate behavior. Things might have been going well for him, but he couldn't say the same thing for Amelia. Despite his constant questioning, something was going on with Amelia.

She had been missing work a lot the last month, it was almost a miracle that Rob hadn't fired her. Some times she would miss three days, making Alex worry about her. Especially when she seemed to be avoiding him some days. Alex had no idea how to contact Amelia. He had never gone to her home. He had her phone number, but she said that she would prefer he wouldn't call her unless it was an emergency.

When she stepped out of the kitchen, Alex was about to apologize for his behavior, but Amelia's attention was focused on a blond woman sitting alone in the corner booth. Her posture had become tense and her hands were digging into her palms painfully. Alex tried to get her attention, but she didn't seem to hear him. Amelia reluctantly walked over to the table.

"Again? What are you doing here?" Amelia was hissing. Alex continued picking up plates at the table nearby, taking his time.

"We just want to order food."

"Really?" Amelia scoffed in disbelief. "You hate this place."

"Of course not. I'm checking up on you, obviously," the woman said. "This place is disgusting. I can't believe Sebastian let you work here."

"Yeah, well, it's not your problem," Amelia said harshly. "Leave now."

"I would if I could," the woman said distastefully.

"I can't believe this. You think I can't do this, right? I'm not stupid. I overheard you talking to Sebastian last night. 'You think she can do it?' Unbelievable."

"It's rude to eavesdrop on a conversation," the woman said coolly, her eyes narrowing dangerously at Alex. He blushed and turned around, placing the plates clumsily into the tray and ran back into the kitchens. It looked that Amelia was still taking the order of the woman. She didn't look like Amelia's mother and certainly didn't act like her mother. She was more like the judgmental aunt.

Alex couldn't hear what the woman was telling Amelia, but whatever it was, it was making Amelia unhappy. Her hands were gripping the menus tightly, and there was a crease between her eyebrows. He lost track of the conversation, his attention being directed on cleaning the tables.

"Excuse me," Amelia said, pushing past him and going towards their manager. "Can I speak to you in private?" Amelia asked Rob in a rushed tone.

"Sure, what's the matter?"

Alex knew that he needed to stop eavesdropping Amelia's private conversations, but he couldn't help and observe her talk to Rob. He couldn't hear what was being exchanged between them, but from what he could see in Rob facial expressions, whatever Amelia was telling him, it was making him unhappy. She said a few more things to Rob before she walked away from him. Alex didn't have time to pretend he had been working, Amelia already saw him looking at her direction.

"Um, what's going?" he asked tentatively. Alex had never seen Amelia tense before. She was usually a carefree person, a smile on her face and a beat to her step.

"I'm sorry, Alex, but I have to go. Something came up. I'm sorry," she apologized and glanced over her shoulder, the woman waiting impatiently outside.

"No, yeah, it's fine. Who's that?" He tilted his head towards the booth the woman was. It was now empty

"Family friend."

"Hey, hey, wait," he said, and without thinking, grabbed her arm.

"Don't," she snapped, flinching at the contact and he immediately let go.

"Sorry, I—sorry," Alex apologized immediately, her strained expression causing him to not think properly. "I didn't mean to. I forgot."

Her expression became softer. "What is it?"

"I just wanted to know that if we're still going to see each other later?"

"Of course," she said without any hesitation, and before he could say anything, she left through the back entrance. Alex still called out her name and started following her, but stopped because Rob called out his name.

"Alex. Where are you going? You have tables to clean!" Rob barked, clapping his hands. "Come on, Romeo, let's go let's."

Exhaling in frustration, Alex turned around and headed back to work. He would talk to Amelia after work and get answers for the questions he had. He waited until midnight at the park, sitting on the swing set. In his head, Alex would go over what he would ask Amelia, but he never got the chance.

She never showed up.

* * *

 **December 1958**

Alex didn't see Amelia for almost three weeks. She hadn't shown up to work or to the park. At first, he was confused. Maybe he had misheard her. Did she mean that she would see him that night or the next? His confusion then was replaced by panic. What if something terrible happened to her? What there had been an emergency in her family and she wouldn't be able to come back to work for a long time?

But by the third week, he wasn't worried anymore. November had ended and now it was December, showing how much time he had passed and Amelia had made no contact with him. He was her friend, shouldn't she have said something to him? He wondered what important event that came up that made her miss work.

It wasn't until Alex saw Rob put up a 'Waitress Needed' sign when it hit him. Amelia might not ever return.

"Why are you hiring a new waitress? How long is Amelia going to be absent?" Alex demanded to his manager, dropping what he was doing to talk to him.

"What are you talking...? Oh, shit, Amelia didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"Really? You don't know?"

"No..." Alex said, caught off how shocked Rob seemed. "Did she tell you why she left?"

"No, she didn't. She was in a rush that day," Rob said slowly, "but she did tell me she was quitting."

"What? Are you sure she said that?" Alex said sharply.

"Yeah, I know, didn't see that coming. Despite the last month she's been coming in late, she was one of my best waitress and the only one who had the patience to deal with your mood swings. That's why I haven't fired her, so it really hurt when she told me that she was quitting."

"Why did she quit, Rob? Did she tell you?"

Rob shrug. "I don't know, but she said she couldn't work here anymore. I guess it had something to do why she's been missing work lately. Hey, get that table, will you? I have no fucking clue where Josh is."

Having no other choice, Alex went back to work, but the entire time he cleaned the table, his mind was somewhere else. Alex couldn't wait until his shift would end so he would be able to confront Amelia about everything.

* * *

Unfortunately, Amelia did not show up that afternoon. And the pattern continued for the next weeks until Alex summoned the courage to call her. He had enough of being given the cold shoulder from her. The entire time the phone rang, his nerves were all over the place and was tempted to hang up. But Amelia had picked up the phone and any doubt he had disappeared.

She had sounded surprised at his call. Alex had a hard time hearing her, there was a loud noise in the background that sounded like she was in a party. After a few minutes of confusion, they agreed to meet at the park after his shift ended. Alex was relieved to find Amelia sitting on the swing set, drawing patterns on the floor with the heel of her boots.

"Why didn't you tell me you quit?" was the first thing that came out of his mouth.

She looked up, startled to hear him which was strange. Amelia seemed to always know when he showed up. Amelia gave him a small smile and nodded her head to the empty swing next to her. Alex glared at her and didn't move from his spot.

"I was going to tell you that day, but it slipped my mind. I'm sorry. I just had to go."

"Why did you quit?"

"Um, I'm not doing so well in school so, um, I have to stop working so I can focus, um, on school," Amelia said, not once meeting his eye. It was obvious that she wasn't telling the truth, which irritated Alex.

"School? How come you never mentioned that you were having problems in school?" he asked skeptically. "I could have helped you with your homework."

"It's the commuting. I told you that I don't live close by, and the person that would pick me up doesn't want to pick me up anymore."

"But what does that have to do with school?"

"My school is by where I live. And when I get back home after work, I have to stay up late to do my homework. And I have other responsibilities at home, which makes everything harder. I just have a lot going on," she said, and looked at him, giving him a terse smile.

Alex exhaled in frustration. "I'm sorry you had to quit. But I'm still going to see you, right?"

"Of course, you're going to see me," Amelia reassured him and reached out to hold his freezing hand. Like always, he could feel himself growing warm. But her hand felt rough. He let her go abruptly and stared at her bandaged hand.

"You didn't burn your hands on accident, didn't you?" Alex asked.

Amelia looked at him warily and glanced down at her hands, they still had the bandages, but they looked in better shape than last Sunday.

"I'm not going to say anything," Alex continued. "I promise. But if you're getting hurt―"

"It's not what it looks," Amelia said quietly. "You don't get it."

"Well, I'm going to need to know so I can understand what I saw."

"People don't understand anything," Amelia muttered, more to herself.

"I don't need help," she said firmly.

"What do you need?"

"A friend."

"I can do that," Alex said. "I'm your friend."

She smoothed out the nonexistent wrinkles on her skirt.

"It's hard. I-I feel like I have no one. The girls―Millie, Jessica, Anna―they are nice and fun to talk to. But they're not really my friends, like real friends. I can't be honest with them. They don't get me. They don't get that I can't do certain things because I have these expectations."

She abruptly stopped and tightened her grip on the chains of the swing.

"Amelia," he said hesitantly.

"It's hard," she repeated softly and turned to look at him. "Does it ever get hard?"

"What?"

"Just... not being honest about... everything?"

"You lie a lot?"

"I like to be honest, but I've noticed that not a lot of people appreciate my honesty," she said carefully. Alex didn't know he felt about her answer. "I don't like lying. I hate it. But sometimes, you don't have a choice. Like don't you ever feel like that you want to say something about yourself, but you're afraid that it's going to have horrible consequences?"

"Yeah, but you can't," Alex said. It was so painful that she seemed to understand how he felt and not being able to tell her.

"I wish I could say it, but I can't because sometimes I think that I'm alone, but then I know that's not true. As much as being different is something someone wants, we're not different, we're all the same, more than we think."

"You think so? That, you know, we're the same, more than we think?" Alex asked hesitantly. "That's more people like us? I mean, like, you know, different?"

Amelia nodded thoughtfully. "I think so, I guess we just have to say to find out."

"But you said it yourself, something bad can happen if you say it."

"Or something not so bad that can later lead up to something good."

The silence that fell between them was heavy, both deep in thought. He couldn't fathom what was going in her head. Amelia was unpredictable, which was one of the things why he had been drawn to her.

"Remember that day you showed up late, like super late, almost an hour late?" Alex asked out of nowhere. "What happened that day?"

"Oh... well, I don't think you guys would have appreciated my honesty," Amelia admitted. "But it was an accident that I caused. I could have stopped it."

"But what happened? What can't you say? Are you...?"

"Alex, stop. No." Amelia reached out and grabbed his freezing hand. He looked at her and felt his body become instantly warmed by her warm touch. "I'm the most honest with you, but sometimes, I don't want to talk about myself because I don't like what I see. It's nice to omit that ugly part of yourself."

Alex glanced at her hand thoughtfully. He got that part, wanting to pretend that he's never done anything bad in his life. That he didn't burn down two houses in his old neighborhood. That he didn't hurt anybody. That he wasn't a freak.

"Can I tell you something?" Alex blurted out.

"Yes," Amelia said, and if he had been paying attention he would have noticed how she tensed up.

He hesitated for a second. He needed to say something, it was becoming too much for him to keep his mouth shut. It's been a year and he couldn't take it anymore. His parents never mentioned the incident, pretending that the whole reason they moved was because of a change of scenery.

"Will you promise me you won't say anything?"

"Of course, you can trust me," Amelia assured him. "You can tell me anything."

In that moment, Alex saw no reason why he should not tell her. And, making a rash choice, he told her everything.

Looking back, Alex wished he hadn't because it turned out to be the worst mistake he made.

* * *

Two weeks had passed since Clara spoke with Alex. The night where Alex told her everything was the last time she had seen him. Clara knew how that looked from his side. She heard about his horrible actions and now was disgusted by him, but it wasn't what it seemed.

Clara was relieved that after months of being patient had finally got him to confess that he wasn't normal, that he was like her, although he didn't know that part. In the first month, Clara thought that he was never going to listen to trust her, seeing how distant he was with everybody. Clara had Emma to thank for the positive outcome.

"He's a boy, Clara," Emma had told her in a bored tone. "They see a pretty face who gives them the smallest amount of attention and they will confess a murder. Be that pretty face that will do anything he wants."

Initially, Clara had been skeptical, but she been desperate enough to seek advice on the older woman on how to win over a man. And everything that Emma had told her to do had worked. It was almost sad how similar all men were.

"Is there a phone I can use?" Clara asked after a heavy silence between her and Father Evans. "Please," she added as an afterthought.

"Yes, of course. There's one in my office. You can use that one," Father Evans told her slowly. "Is there anything else you want to tell me, Clara?

"I just need to make a phone call."

Giving her a wry look, Father Evans showed her his office and left her on her own. After making a few phone calls, Clara made her way to the diner. That's where she and Alex agreed to meet. She didn't tell him why she wanted to meet there specifically, despite his pestering. She had been relieved that he agreed.

The church was a mile away from the diner, giving Clara enough time to change her mind. She could always stick to the original plan. Sebastian's plan, she reminded herself, the one you never were really sure about but went along with it just to prove yourself.

But the closer she got, the more she could see that what she was going to do was the better alternative. Alex deserved so much better. He had a family that cared about him. Sebastian interfering would ruin his life.

Moments later, Clara found herself in front of the diner, no signs of Alex. She wasn't surprised that he wasn't there, he wasn't the most punctual person. She took advantage of that fact and marched up to the diner and set everything in motion. The entire time she broke the glass door of the diner, and stepped inside the empty diner, she was trying to convince herself that everything would work out.

Finishing her task, she stepped out of the diner, and waited outside impatiently, balling her hands into fists. Her mind was racing with incoherent thoughts.

 _No one's going to believe Alex,_ she reasoned. _He already was rumored to be an arsonist, was at the diner around the time of the fire, witnesses would be able to testify. If he tried to shift the blame on me, he couldn't. There didn't exist an Amelia Frost. There was no trace of her. She didn't work at the diner anymore and was nowhere to be found. I'm not her, she's not real._

"What the fuck, Amelia? What happened?"

Alex's voice came over her shoulder. When she whirled around, she saw the horrified expression as he took in the growing flames coming from Charmin's.

 _Everything would fall on Alex. That's the plan._

"Listen, we don't have time," Clara said calmly, and grabbed Alex's hand to get his attention. Alex forced himself to look away from the burning building and frowned in confusion.

"What's going on?" Alex frowned in bemusement, his eyes flickering from her to the fire. "Seriously, Amelia. We need to go, or call someone."

"Forget about the fire, Alex," Clara said harshly, throwing Alex off at the unexpected tone. "It's been taking care of. I need to..." She stopped and took a shaky breath. "Alex, I already knew about you. Of what you are."

"I told you. Obviously, you know," he said nervously. Alex still wasn't grasping the graveness of the situation. His attention was on the growing fire. "Amelia, I think we should go."

"No, we're not leaving. Not until you hear me out."

"Is this about why you haven't been talking to me?" he asked. "We talked about this some other place."

Clara ignored him. "Alex, you need to understand something about me. I started working here for a reason. And that was you. Because you're different."

"What is going on? Is this some kind of joke? Are you making fun of me?" he demanded.

"No, I'm not," she said. "I would never do that. Don't make this difficult. We don't have much time. The fire isn't going to give us enough time."

He glanced at the burning building and then at her pathetic expression for a few seconds.

"Wait... did you do this? I can't believe it. I—what the hell?" he spluttered.

"Alex. You need to understand that—"

"No, no, stop it. Shut up, shut up, Amelia. I'm not... why would you do this?"

"Because you this is the only way you would understand," she cried out. "I know that you're still sensitive about the accident."

"I trusted you with that and now—now you're making this into a joke. You're a freak," he spat.

"Don't say that. You hate being called that, why would you call me that?"

"What is going on with you, Amelia? You disappear after told you everything. I don't know what the hell is going on with you, but I can't deal with your problems. I have my own problems," Alex told her.

"I know. I know that you have problems. I get them."

"I don't think you do. Just because I told you of what happened to me, doesn't mean you get me."

"Come one, Alex, you can't lie to me. Maybe to yourself, but not me. I get it. I was like that. I didn't want to admit I was this… abomination. But I'm not. _We're_ not," she stressed, taking a step closer to him. "What we have is a gift. We just haven't learned how to use it. I'm getting help, and that person can help you too."

"Y-you want me to get help?"

"I did," she admitted. "But it doesn't have to be that way. Just say yes, and everything will be alright. Please, Alex, just say yes—"

"Listen, Amelia. I have no idea what you're going on about, but stop it."

"I don't know what I was hoping," she admitted, a little frustrated that their conversation was not heading where she wanted. "But I guess you didn't leave me an option. We're wasting time."

There was a dawning look on Alex's face like he finally understood what was going on.

"The fire. You did this? Why would you do this?" he yelled at her. "You set me up. This is a set up. You're not trying to 'help me.' You're fucking me over, that's what you're doing."

"I am trying to help you, but I can't unless you want to. I'm not going to force you."

"No."

Clara couldn't believe how that one word could bring a huge ache in her chest. She tried to ignore the sensation that made her feel like her lungs were being crushed and tried again.

"Then I guess I don't have a choice. I really didn't want to do this," Clara repeated, and she hoped he knew that she really did mean it. "I'm supposed to come back with you, whether you want to or not. Coming back without you is not an option. But I don't want to force you. You have a life here, people that want the best for you. I would be a terrible person if made you leave this life. I don't want to hurt you, and I know that the other person who would get you will hurt you."

Alex breathing was growing more erratic, and his hand kept shaking at his rage. He opened his mouth, trying to say something, but not able to.

"I tried to think of a way to get you out," Clara continued, hoping that if she explained her reasoning would atone her actions, "for you to be safe and still be with your family, but I couldn't. I'm sorry, I tried, I really did. That was all I could think about for the past week. This is the only way I can guarantee your safety. I guess you can't have everything."

"No. No. I'm not going with you. I don't know what you're talking about. You're crazy. You—you belong in the nuthouse."

Clara smiled sadly at Alex. He was digging his own hole without knowing it. She stiffened when she heard the wailing of the sirens from a mile away, and nodded to herself, getting ready for part two of her plan. She took a step towards Alex. He did the same thing, trying to keep a space between them.

"I'm sorry," Clara had told him sincerely.

"Sorry? You can't tell me that and just—"

Alex hadn't anticipated for Clara to attack him because he didn't move when she punched him square in the jaw. Clara sucked in her breath, her hands were still sensitive from using her mutation early in the morning. Alex stumbled to the ground, his hand going the spot where Clara's fist connected to his face. His eyes widened in disbelief.

"What the hell was that for—?" He stopped, seeing the lack of apathy in Clara's face. She could see the realization that the girl standing in front of him was not Amelia, his friend who he would wait for at the end of the shift and head to the park. He didn't recognize the stranger that was Clara.

Sensing his panic, Clara went over to him before he could scramble up. She pushed him back and pressed her elbow on his chest to keep him down. Alex cursed and before Clara grabbed his hand, he smacked her in the face. Startled by the unexpected hit, she loosened her grip on him, giving Alex an opportunity to push her off her and start crawling away.

Quickly, Clara turned around and caught the collar of his shirt and pulled him back. He tried twisting around but Clara grabbed his shoulder and managed to overpower him. She forced him flat on the floor, her body on top of him, blocking him from escaping.

"Get off," he said and tried to push her off with no avail. "Amelia, get the fuck off me."

"Listen to me," she told him seriously as if their previous struggle never happened. "No one is going to believe you that it was me. Tell them it was you and that you take full responsibility."

"No, Amelia, stop—no," he gritted, continuing to struggle to push her off him. Clara grunted when he pulled a chunk of her hair, but that didn't make her budge.

"Alex. You're not getting away, stop that."

"No, no. I'm not going to stop, liar!"

"I'm protecting you, don't you get that?"

"No, let me go. Please," he said the last word desperately. She almost loosened her hold, but an image of Sebastian getting to him stopped her.

"Shut up," she snapped and decided to stop this nonsense. It was clear that he wasn't going to listen to her and that any second, the firefighters would show up.

"Amelia—"

That was all he was to her. Amelia Frost, his supposed friend. That was what made Clara crack.

"Stop calling me that!" she yelled, and with a force that she shouldn't have used, Clara slammed Alex against the floor. She heard him suck in a deep breath and then his body went limp. Clara could hear the hammering of her heart and had to take a second to recollect herself.

Clara had not expected for Alex to put up a fight. He never seemed to be the physical type. He was quick-witted, that's what she expected to see. For Alex to throw her hateful words, not punches. Touching the spot where Alex got her, she hissed at the softened and could feel blood dripping.

She was about to check if Alex was alright when she heard the familiar sound of Azazel and in a blink, she was in an abandoned alley, a block away from the burning diner. She stumbled, losing her footing, and not bothering to check with Azazel, she went to see the what was happening. She stopped, hiding in the shadows and concentrated in blocking out the noise of the flames crackling, the metal groaning, the sirens, growing murmur of people checking out the fire, and focused on the heartbeat of Alex.

Clara could hear the steady beat to her utter relief. She had feared that she had accidentally killed him, she would have never let herself live if that had happened. Alex's breathing hadn't changed, meaning he was still unconscious. She hoped she hadn't done any permanent damage to him. Clara had been growing agitated by the second and carelessly let her emotions take over when she knocked Alex unconscious.

She tried to tell herself that what she did was right, that other alternatives would have been worse. But the more she heard those reason, the more it sounded like it was a script that she had been given and had to convince the audience.

The sirens had come to a sudden halt as soon they reached the diner. Clara didn't know how long she stayed hidden in the darkness, listening to police show up, the sound of water hitting the flames, people screaming, cameras flashing.

 _"Who would have thought that kid was unstable?"_ a voice said, hours later after the noise died down. Clara had to wait until she heard

 _"He was a strange one,"_ the voice agreed. _"Poor parents. I know them from church."_

 _"Well, there's nothing they can do. The police already took him to the station."_

Clara had to wait until she heard the two voices grow further, when she let out a piercing scream, unable to keep in her anguish, and punched the concrete wall. Pain radiated over her left arm, but she ignored it. She punched the wall over and over again until she heard the sound of her wrist snapping. Gasping she dropped her hand to her side and, through the darkness, she could see her blood and skin dripping down on the wall.

"When are your temper tantrums going to end? Because if this is how it's going to be all the time, I'm just going to drop you off on a deserted island."

She froze and dropped her hands to her side. She had been too caught up with listening to what was going on in the diner, she had completely forgotten about Azazel. She clenched her working hand and whirled around, glaring at Azazel.

"They say someone called and left an anonymous tip that a young boy was going to burn down a diner," Azazel lazily told her. "How strange that person seemed to know when it was going to happen. Especially that it was that specific boy that Shaw ordered you to recruit."

"Go away."

"Unfortunately for you, I don't take orders from you. We need to go right now."

"I'm not going. I can't go back. Sebastian is going to be mad at me."

Azazel sighed in exasperation. He teleported in front of her, much to her annoyance. "I get it. I mean, not really. What you did wasn't right, it was actually stupid. Shaw is not going to be happy. _But_ I can see where you came from. He was your friend, you wanted to protect him. And I agree with you, I think he's better off in jail. Shaw doesn't really need him."

"What do you mean?" Clara asked sharply, recalling her conversation with Sebastian six months ago. He had gone on a tangent of wanting to expand his group to strengthen. Alex was the whole reason why Clara started working at the diner. To find a mutant and get them to join Sebastian's group.

"Well, we now have Riptide. Having the kid would just make him a liability. He's too young. Shaw doesn't need another kid, he has you. Also, if you haven't noticed, he's too unstable. His mutation is basically useless."

"Then what was the point of this?" she hissed, her temper flaring which was not a good thing. Whenever Clara got mad, her body would get exceedingly hot which always lead to her blowing up. Azazel had to take a step back but gave her a dark grin.

"What were you capable of doing for something you needed. And from the fire..." Azazel gestured at the growing flames. "Not exactly what Shaw had in mind, but you did exceptionally well. Didn't think you had it in you, to be honest. I can't believe I'm going to tell you this..."

"Don't," Clara warned tiredly, wishing he would shut up.

"... but I'm impressed. I mean it, Weschler. You defied direct orders from Shaw, the man you basically worship may I add, and did what you wanted. And, you just got someone arrested for a crime they didn't commit. You truly belong with us."

 _I'm not like you guys,_ she wanted to argue, but even in her head, it sounded pathetic. Not having anything to say, Clara reluctantly made her towards the tall man. It has been a year since she first saw Azazel, but she still couldn't get over his menacing appearance.

"Can I tell you something?"

"I'd rather you not," Clara said shortly and focused on her damaged hand. She had been working on her control over her healing. Trying to let it heal if she wanted, but had been failing miserably. She hadn't understood what the big deal was to heal without her consent, but now staring at her newly healed, she understands where Sebastian was coming from.

Choosing whether or not to heal showed that she was in control of her mutation. In that moment, she longed to have that control. She'd rather suffer through her injury. She deserved it.

"What is it?" Clara said reluctantly and glanced at Azazel.

"If you want to survive us, you're going to have to change," Azazel told her bluntly. "You can't be weak and forgiving anymore. You have to thicken your skin, Wechsler."

"How many times not to call me that?" she growled. Her anger took over, and she could feel heat radiating off her body. Azazel had to take a step back. "It's not Wechsler, it's Welsh."

"That's more like it. Keep that up, and you'll be fine."

Despite how much Clara hated Azazel, she knew there was a truth in his words. She couldn't keep being soft and letting anything sway her. She was in a cruel world and she was going to have to adapt to it quickly before someone ate her alive.

"Hey, if it's any consolation, you're never going to see him again."

Clara wasn't sure how she felt at the idea of never seeing Alex Summers again. Without a word, Azazel offered his arm to her. Alike always, Clara gripped the sleeve of Azazel's jacket and forced herself to ignore the roar of the growing flames and the idea of never seeing Alex again.

In a blink, Azazel and Clara were gone, leaving no trace that they ever were there.

* * *

 **There it is, I'm done with this part of the story. I would love to hear what you have to say with this ending. I hope you're not disappointed with what I decided to do, but it had to be done.**

 **I really hope that I can update soon. The next chapter is already halfway done, cause funny story, originally these two chapters (the ones that I split in half) were not part of my story. On the last second, I decided to write it cause I was getting impatient with not having Alex part of my story. So, hopefully, I can have a chapter before the end of the year.**

 **I kinda rushed through this chapter, so there might be some errors. But, like always, if there are any errors, I will go back and fix it like always.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own X-Men or anything related to Marvel. Anything original is mine.**


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